His Keeper
by Nana-41175
Summary: Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know. Chapter 9/17. "Quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered," M continued, "and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard."
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** Protecting the Quartermaster entails a special set of circumstances, and Q is the last one to know.

**Excerpt:**

"Your identity has been compromised," M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. "I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down."

Q gaped at him, finally speechless.

"At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered," M continued as though he'd not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, "and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard."

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Hello and welcome to yet another fic. It's 00Q this time. I know, late to the party as usual, but better late than never. Hardly any research done on actual MI6 protocols and not Brit-picked. Please be kind.

Teasers are posted every few days after an update and can be found at the end of each chapter. Enjoy!

* * *

Of all the double-O's, he just knew he would have the hardest time dealing with 007. Even among this elite group of agents, staunch patriots and efficient killers all, Bond was a different breed altogether. Everyone knew that. Even M was hard-put to rein him in, and he was one of her favourites. Perhaps this was why 007's sudden and unexpected demise came at him with an even stronger punch than anticipated.

He was weeks away from his new post when M's obituary of Commander James Bond, C.M.G., R.N. started to circulate within MI6, leaping from his inbox full of other interdepartmental emails which needed looking into. He sat still, skimming through the message even as a shocked hum rose all around him in Q branch, the news travelling lightning-fast through secure channels to spread across the entire Secret Service. 007, killed in the line of duty in Turkey. There was not even a body to retrieve and to bring back home.

And so that was that, he thought as he felt something deflate within him. He was mere weeks away from meeting Bond along with the other double-O's— a formal introduction as part of his new job assignation, not just the casual run-ins at Q branch when Bond happened to drop by to get his briefings on new equipment by Major Boothroyd, the soon-to-be former Q. In fact, they didn't run into each other all that frequently, save that one time.

That one time, when he had been distracted by the data in his tablet as he made his way to the boss' office, only to stop short and realize he was walking straight toward 007, who had just emerged from a meeting with Boothroyd. He had stepped aside reflexively, wordlessly, tablet clutched to his chest, staring as 007 passed him by, his movements smooth and graceful as a shark gliding under water.

He ought to have said something: at least a greeting, or a dry apology, only his voice had died in his throat when 007 had flicked a glance at him. Those pale blue eyes ought to have been cold…only they weren't for that small fraction of time when Bond's gaze had alighted on him. Even without the slight uptilt of his mouth, Bond's eyes held a lazy, almost indulgent sort of amusement which he had found startling and fascinating in equal measure. Even worse, the smirking glance had been followed by a brief wink.

_A wink._

What in bloody hell?

He'd cast a furtive glance behind him, certain that it had been meant for somebody else— perhaps one of the female technicians hard at work whom Bond was friendly with…

There had been nobody behind him, so he had to arrive at the conclusion that the bastard had meant it for him. By the time he'd turned back to 007, all he could see was the man's back, broad and powerful, encased in that well-made suit, going, going…gone.

It wasn't even a come-on, not really. That was just how 007 was. He knew better than to take his thoughtless little flirtations to heart, yet looking at the man's obituary now, he felt almost fond and strangely regretful. He'd been rather looking forward to working with Bond, along with all the challenges that that would have entailed. And now…

Now, he ought to go back to work. But first, a small matter of saving the man's picture that had accompanied M's obituary. He would not stop to analyze why he did so, in the same way he would not stop to reason out why he would return time and again in the days that followed to gaze at that extraordinary face, forever framed in hues of black and white and grey.

They were colleagues, after all. Surely it was natural to feel something for 007. Perhaps it was for all that could have been had the man lived. And if he would allow himself a certain bit of sadness for a meeting that was now never to take place between them, who would be the wiser?

It was not as if he had a crush on the man. Oh dear lord, no.

And so that was that.

Or so Q thought.


	2. Chapter 2

The news of 007's apparent resurrection was handled more discreetly by M, with hardly any fanfare. But then, how else would one handle a revenant except with thick gloves on?

She broke it to him during their weekly one-on-one, after the update on the ongoing investigation into the nature of the cyberattack that had led to the gas explosion within their headquarters. The perpetrators had covered their tracks well, and not even Q could track them down until they struck again. The most that they could do was develop better, more sophisticated safeguards to ensure that there would not be a second time. Q had already put them in place. At this point, M simply slid a piece of paper toward him and said, "Since you're here, I thought I may as well inform you."

Q looked down at the missive in front of him. It was very short and took less than a few seconds to read. Still, the contents were nothing short of astonishing.

He raised his eyes from the report and said, "So 007…"

M simply nodded. "Is very much alive, yes," she said, her tone serene and the lines of her face giving nothing away, as usual: not relief, definitely not joy. She had not shown the slightest sign of distress during the attack on headquarters and, by extension, herself, only a week before. She had only grown colder, tougher, and by doing so, had pulled the entire SIS community together. Given who she was, Q supposed an agent returning from the dead would hardly merit a glimmer of emotion from M. "I will make arrangements for you to meet him once he has been cleared for active duty."

"Yes, ma'am." There was hardly anything else he could say, although he had questions; and judging from the length of M's missive, it was clear that she was not in possession of all the answers concerning 007. He would have to start digging on his own.

"Oh, and Q," she called out just as he was about to take his leave.

"Ma'am?"

"Please see to it that 007 is protected from himself, as much as possible," she said, somewhat cryptically.

In other words, he was being given a free hand to deal with the man as he saw fit.

"Very well, ma'am," he said.

* * *

He was ready when Tanner came by to say, "007 has been cleared for active duty. I take it you've received M's instructions in outfitting him for Shanghai. If the equipment is ready, shall I schedule an appointment for the two of you sometime today for the briefing?"

Q gave a faint hum, not taking his eyes off the giant screen in front of them, fingers flying over the keyboard. Q branch was still in shambles as he'd not yet finished setting up shop. "Not today," he said. "The equipment will only be ready late in the afternoon and I've got 002 and 008 coming by later. Have him meet me for the drop-off at the National Gallery tomorrow, say around 12:30 in the afternoon."

Tanner blinked. "The National Gallery?"

Q paused from his work and gave him a small, dry smile. "I thought I might take a lunch break out of the office for once," he said briefly.

"Of course," replied Bill, his features efficiently cleared of any lingering surprise. "Where in the Gallery then?"

"The Sackler Room. In front of The Fighting Temeraire."

He'd adjusted well in the course of his first few months handling the double-O's, and one of the earliest lessons he'd learned was the value of picking one's battlegrounds and setting up one's fights. By choosing the familiar precincts and quiet sanctity of the National Gallery, which was something of a church for him while growing up, Q could ensure that there would be no dreadful scenes and no raised voices, and no minions to witness 007's reaction to himself. And with the Temeraire, Q was offering a statement of his own for 007, if the man would care to listen.

_That's you, 007. And you have yet to meet me._

* * *

007 was already there when Q arrived. He was seated on the bench, his gaze predictably on the painting before him. Excellent. It gave Q time to make his advance unnoticed, and when he sat down beside 007, he was perfectly composed, the very picture of lounging relaxation.

It was good that the painting distracted them from having to look directly at each other, though from the corner of his eye, he could see 007 peering at him suspiciously.

_Do you remember me?_

007 glanced away.

_Apparently not, _thought Q, smiling inwardly as he felt sweet relief coupled with the slightest disappointment.

_I'm glad that you've forgotten the awestruck little minion you'd brushed by. His tongue had been tied then, and to look at him, standing there dumbly as he stared after you, you wouldn't have supposed him entering Cambridge when he was sixteen, and to have two doctoral degrees under his belt, or be the youngest programmer to design some of the weapons you've used and discarded in the field. I'm glad, because that idiot minion was not me. But this is. This is who I am. This is who I wish you to see. So see me now._

So Q began, his voice low and his words clear-cut, "it always makes me feel a little melancholy…"

It played out quite beautifully, with everything coming along to Q's expectations. It was especially delicious to call out to 007 just when he was on the brink of moving away, to have him sit back down with a grunt of realization as to who he was speaking to. Q had geared himself for worse, perhaps a stinging insult or two, but their verbal sparring had turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable, with a glint of humor that was always a saving grace. In the end they managed to establish a semblance of rapport, despite 007 being distinctively unimpressed with the gun and radio handed to him.

His reply had a bit of an eye-roll tucked into it: "Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don't really go in for that anymore." And also, behave. And I just might show you what I am capable of making for you, in future.

Q had only been given three days by M to prepare, after all. What could he manage at so short notice for a man who'd just come back from the dead? Also, it was his response to M's request to protect Bond from himself. Or from his own weapon, at the very least. In truth, 007 was hardly in any shape to pursue this mission. He'd come back from his sojourn aged, weariness imprinted on every line of his face even as those startling blue eyes had remained the same. But he'd come back, that was what mattered. Despite his admonition for 007 to return his equipment in one piece, Q was under no illusion that 007's gun could be wrestled quite easily from him at this stage. Q would make it his hallmark to prioritize the safety of the agents entrusted into his care.

As he took his leave, he heard 007 mutter, "brave new world."

_Yes,_ Q silently agreed. _Welcome to my world, Bond. And you'll never see me again without my armor._

Having wiped the slate clean between them for a fresh start, he strolled out of the National Gallery feeling considerably lighter within and decided he'd take the Tube back to work.


	3. Chapter 3

Bond wrenched open the door of the safehouse. "Q, I'm in," he said.

"007," the familiar voice came in calm and sure in his earwig. "First door to your right. She can't get very far. Everything is clear for now. 003 managed to throw off her pursuers, but hurry."

"Copy that." Bond did not need to do anything but follow the trail of blood on the floor. Inside the room, 003 was lying on an old mattress stripped of its sheets. There was red all over. She was bleeding out.

"Gunshot wounds, left leg, and right lung has been penetrated," Q pointed out.

"I can see that," Bond ground out as he knelt beside 003. He hoisted her up with gentle hands and pressed his hand to hers on top of the hideous red flower blossoming wetly through her shirt.

She opened her eyes slightly, smiled through her bloodied mouth. "James," she slurred softly.

Bond nodded. "Emily," he said.

She shook her head, breathing labored. "Take..." she ground out and could not continue.

"The ring and the glasses," Q supplied. "Also the gun and earwig."

Gathering the equipment, 007 understood only too well that there was no way to take her with him.

Bond looked down at the ashen face he'd known for years. He and 003 had shared several missions together. She was-is-a friend. "Ems..."

"You have to leave, 007," Q cut in. "Possible hostiles moving in."

003 smiled at Bond wistfully. "Last year...Christmas," she rasped, the words coming out in gasps now. "When I...said don't...be an arse. I take it...back."

Bond stared at her, breathing hard. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"The kiss," she said. "I...we should have just..."

"Ssshh, I got you," said Bond as he moved quickly to press his lips against hers. "You did well, Ems."

"Tell Q...thank you. For staying...with me."

"It was my pleasure," Q replied after a pause into Bond's earwig. His voice never wavered.

"She's gone," said Bond as he made to stand up.

"And so must you," replied Q, his tone turning crisp and efficient once more. "Don on the glasses, 007. All right. Truly no other way out except upstairs. Expect two hostiles at the door in three, two, one..."

Bond raised his gun and fired just as the targets rammed in. "You see what I'm seeing, do you?"

"The stairs, 007. Up you get," reminded Q as Bond emerged from the room and pelted up the stairs. "Third room to your right. There is a small balcony...hold on. Three hostiles coming from your left."

Q waited for 007 to finish them off before smoothly resuming, "head for the back, down the corridor, one more flight of stairs up. Head for the balcony, you can jump to the next building from there... that's it. Down you go."

Bond ignored the screaming, cowering tenants of the new building as he made for one door after another going down.

"One last hostile in the street before you're clear," recited Q as Bond raced to obey his instructions.

"Video transmitter," said Q as Bond sprinted down the busy street, teeming with vendors and shoppers in downtown Beirut. "The glasses, I mean. Nothing new, really. They livestream whatever you're seeing directly to us. 003 had taken in some interesting faces during her meeting. Mind the ring though, that's what we need to bring back in one piece."

"That's the USB?" replied Bond somewhat incredulously.

"Yes. A modified one. Turn left on the next corner, 007. Rendezvous with Brandon in two minutes."

Bond reached the street just in time to see the black SUV careening toward him, a sweaty Agent Brandon behind the wheel.

"Good," said Q as Bond got into the car. "Head for the designated point as previously agreed. I've arranged your flight out of Beirut-Rafic Hariri via MEA, leaving in 1725 hours."

"Q."

"Yes, 007."

"003..."

"She did very well, and so did you, 007. Have a safe flight home."

Before Bond could say anything else, Q had signed off.

* * *

His debriefing with M was mercifully short. The mission was a success, after all, even when it meant a double-O agent was lost. He and 003 were running parallel missions in Beirut and things had been uneventful on his end, for once, with just the usual carnage involving hostiles and with little injury to himself. Q was forced to reroute him only when 003's assignment had suddenly and disastrously got out of hand. It was one of the hazards of their job.

His next stop was Q branch, and Bond found himself heaving out a small sigh of relief. This was something to look forward to.

He normally had no reason to drop by in between missions, although that had not stopped him from doing so with increasing regularity in the past few months. But casual visits were one thing; a full debriefing with Q meant he could stay just a bit longer than usual, and it also meant having a little of the Quartermaster's time for himself.

Dealing with Q was like being given a delightful little puzzle to solve. Bond had never cared for these Millenials, but young as he was, Q was a bit of an old soul deep inside. Apart from his eclectic, preppy fashion choices that suggested an expensive hangover of his uni days, he possessed that particular gentlemanly charm rarely found outside period dramas anymore, his courtly manner in sharp contrast to his brilliantly ruthless mind attuned to the various intricacies of futuristic, cutting-edge technology- technology used to kill, and to protect Queen and country. He was liked by his colleagues, and despite the initial wariness and amusement of the double-O's (of which Bond himself was guilty), he'd managed to have them eating out of his hand by the end of his first month as Quartermaster. That was no small feat.

And yet with Bond, he was more aloof. There was the banter, of course, at times acerbic, other times quite genial, and more than a bit of showing off on both sides. Q was good at keeping things professional though, and no matter how much he would needle him, Bond could not seem to get past the walls that Q had erected around himself. Subtle attempts at flirting- if Bond could even call it that- were merely brushed off and ignored; unsubtle ones (such as that time when Bond had called him "Q'ute") were given the dry treatment: "lovely. Now let's move on to what's relevant, shall we?"

It was a game that Bond found himself slowly getting addicted to.

Q branch was more quiet than usual, and Q himself was not at his open worktable. Bond was directed to the Cubicle at the end of the long, underground chamber- technically Q's office, encased in smart glass, currently opaque.

Q was busy, bent over a keyboard and facing multiple flickering screens when he entered. It took a moment for Q to register Bond's presence, and when he did, there was not even a quirk of that beautifully shaped, red mouth. Behind the glasses, those bright green eyes were shadowed with fatigue.

His voice sounded the same though: "Returning equipment, 007? Very well. On the table, please."

He was upset over 003. Of course he was. Among the double-O's, 003 was the first to warm to him, treating him like a younger brother. She wasn't the first double-O to die under his watch, though. Even if the deaths had been drastically reduced under his superb guidance and supervision, Q had lost agents in the two years he'd been Quartermaster. That was what the job entailed at times.

As Bond laid out the equipment on the table before him, he said, "She didn't have any regrets. You know that, don't you? None of us have."

"Except that part where the two of you never got to kiss."

Bond stared at him, but Q was already inspecting the equipment, his head down and features hidden.

"We did," answered Bond, still remembering the taste of Ems's blood in his mouth. "You saw it."

Q hummed, still not looking at him. He picked up the ring, and to Bond's astonishment, he unsnapped it in two to reveal the USB plug hidden inside. "The state of the equipment is passable this time around, thank you. I'll log them in. Is there anything else, 007?"

"Dinner," Bond found himself saying. "If you're not doing anything later."

Q was already turning back to his computers. That caught his attention. He stilled and slowly turned back to Bond.

"You look like you've not eaten or slept in the past twenty-four hours," he said. "And if you feel like you need to talk about Emily..."

It was not his smoothest pick-up line, but it was also a very rare thing for Bond to speak his mind outright. What came out of his mouth surprised them both.

He watched Q watching him warily and realized that Q thought he must be joking. There was anger in the forest-green depths of those eyes, boring into him. Then that intense green gaze slid away.

"I appreciate your concern, 007, but as you can see..." Q swept an arm vaguely in the direction of the computers. "I'm wrapping up things and performing a comprehensive sweep of the systems...post-mission standard procedure, you understand. It will take some time."

"I can wait," replied Bond, amazed that he was being stubborn about this. Q had not said no, that was a start.

"Don't hold your breath," muttered Q. "But thank you all the same, Bond."

Bond smiled. "A rain check then."

"Goodbye, 007. I believe you will need to pass by Medical. Don't let me keep you."

* * *

When he was finally alone again, Q sank down slowly into his seat. He felt like giving in to the urge to bang his head on the table, childish though it was. So he did, twice, and predictably it did not make things any better.

He was in such deep shit.

It would have been enough to let Bond think he was devastated by 003's death. He was. But that wasn't the only thing taking up his time and attention at the moment.

He scanned the computers as they performed the sweep and they were coming up with nothing, nothing, nothing.

How was this even possible?

This was what had made him flip, made him babble about that god-forsaken kiss between 003 and 007 and he had absolutely no intention of ever bringing it up. It was nothing to him, for god's sake.

Christ, what was wrong with him?

This, he thought as he glared at the screens before him. He typed in a new set of commands and watched as the computers came back with nothing.

There was no trace of whoever had sent him the message, embedded in the endless strings of code that made up a malicious intrusion into MI6's systems that the computers had easily picked up and quarantined in the course of their sweep:

push ebx

push esi

call ds sleep

call ds:GetSystemDefaultLangID

mov edi,ds: OutputDebugStringW

push offset OutputString; "Run, Colin, run!"

movzx esi,ax

call edi: OutputDebugStringW

push Offset Name ; "003 is dead and you're next!"

xor ebx,ebx

push ebx ；binitialOwner


	4. Chapter 4

"Twelve hours," said M, his gaze inscrutable. "I really hope you have a good reason for taking that amount of time to report such an incident to me."

"As I have said, sir," Q replied patiently. "There was no actual breach incurred. Our firewalls are intact, the threat was immediately contained, and I am close to tracking it down. It may be using a more complicated, shifting algorithm, but it's not-"

"You do not appear to understand the gravity of the situation," M cut in, "nor the consequence of your office. They know your _name."_

Q set his mouth in a thin line and tried not to grit his teeth. Of course he was aware of the potential threat to his person, but the main reason why he'd decided to report the incident to M was his concern over the apparent leak of the report of 003's death. The possibility of their operatives' activities being exposed was more concerning to him than anything else.

"Is R working with you on this?"

"Of course, sir."

"Good. I want another report in two hours when you're finished," said M.

"Very well, sir."

* * *

He was back in M's office after two hours, but it seemed that M had already made up his mind about the situation regardless of Q's report. On his desk sat a thick file which Q belatedly recognized as his own. Things were not looking good.

"In all your two years heading Q branch, you've not had a real holiday, have you, Q?" queried M as he thumbed through the file. "What will HR think?"

Q smiled thinly. "There were a lot of things to be done in the section," he said, then hastened to add, "but I will make use of the allotted holiday time this year."

"I agree," said M, looking up from the file as he fixed Q with a speculative gaze. "The sooner the better."

Q's shoulders slumped. "Sir-"

"Whether or not you're willing to admit it, we have a credible threat in our hands. I have spoken to R, and it would appear that she can head the branch in your short absence. Kindly start your endorsements as soon as the meeting is finished. What's more, I am assigning 007 to you," said M as he gave a curt nod to signify the interview was over.

"007?" Q felt it then, that curious plunging sensation in his gut as though the rug had been pulled from under him. "With all due respect, sir, don't you think this is a bit of an overreaction? I hardly think we need a double-O agent for this kind of task. Especially not 007."

Before M could get any ideas, Q hastily continued, "it would be a waste for him not to be in the field."

"Overreaction? Your identity has been compromised," M said as he leaned forward in his chair, his features grim even as his tone remained even and calm. "Until we can determine the extent of the threat, I would rather that we be safe than sorry. Understand, Q, that given your position and level of security clearance, we cannot afford to have anything happen to you. Therefore I am standing you down from all your duties in Q branch. Kindly hand in all personal computers and devices. They will be returned to you as soon as they are cleared for use. I am placing you on administrative leave, effective immediately. You need to disappear for a while, Q, for your own safety. Think of this as the holiday you never had these past two years. We will get down to the bottom of this and repair the damage done; otherwise I shall have to ask you to step down."

Q gaped at him, finally speechless.

"At any rate, quartermasters are entitled to double-O agents as bodyguards, when the need arises, and he personally volunteered," M continued as though he'd not just dropped the equivalent of a bomb and a death sentence through slow torture rolled into one, "and I do agree that under the circumstances, 007 would be the best choice as your bodyguard."

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

"Good," said M, looking up. "He's here. I have asked 007 to join us. If Ms Moneypenny is done with the mission profile then we can start."

_Fantastic_, thought Q witheringly. _Just bloody fantastic._

* * *

"Wait for me," said M, stepping out briefly to talk to Moneypenny just as Bond sauntered in to take the seat right beside Q. Apart from a small sigh, Q said nothing as he continued to look straight ahead. Somehow his profile seemed to be his default stance when dealing with Bond.

"So," Bond said, settling in. "Colin, is it?"

That earned Bond a slight quirk of that red, expressive mouth. "It's not within your purview to be calling me by any name other than Quartermaster, 007," Q remarked placidly.

Bond's smile only widened. "Is that so?"

"Knowing my first name doesn't count if you don't know my surname, and even if you managed to find that out, what's in a name, especially in our profession? You'll still know next to nothing about me. So you see, we're back to square one," said Q dryly as he tossed Bond a glance that somehow managed to be wearily amused, apologetic and sardonic at the same time. "Sorry, 007, but that's just how it works."

Bond actually laughed at that and even Q smiled a little. The cheeky little pup did have some pluck to him, which was partly the reason why Bond found him so...alluring.

M returned and set two narrow black leather folders on his desk. "I am sure you will excuse the slight delay as we had to formulate the mission quickly," he began.

Bond opened his folder but he already knew what the contents were. He was curious as to what Q would think though.

Q shifted in his seat as he read the opening passage, as though he were trying not to squirm. A secure cottage in a small hamlet near Edinburgh, travel time of seven hours from London by car, one and a half hours by plane. Bond was familiar with the facility, had used it for small missions from time to time.

The second passage elicited a more interesting- and stark- reaction from Q. He jerked in his seat as though he'd been slapped, his head snapping up, green eyes wide.

"No," Q said, his voice sharp as he abruptly shut his folder. "No. This is...this is complete rubbish, is what this is." Suddenly remembering himself, he added for M's benefit, "I beg your pardon, sir."

"What's wrong with it?" demanded Bond, rather taken aback by Q's vehemence.

_"What's wro-?"_ Q stuttered, eyes wide as he turned his gaze to Bond, his voice quivering with affront. "Married? We're supposed to be a couple here? What sort of nonsense is that? Why is it even necessary?"

"I don't see why that would pose a problem."

Q stared at him in disbelief before realization suddenly struck. "You," he breathed. "You wrote that in?!"

Bond flicked a glance at M, who sighed. "Agents are allowed their say when they're building their personas for a mission," replied M resignedly, looking for all the world like he'd rather be elsewhere- anywhere- except here. "You know that, Q, having designed the details of some of our more well-known missions yourself."

"What about me, then? Don't I get to have a say in the matter?" Q retorted.

"All right," said Bond, his patience wearing thin. "You're the sodding genius here, after all. Do come up with a relationship that will have us living together in a house 24/7 without the neighbors talking."

"I don't see why two men co-habitating would spark any neighborly interest," replied Q coldly.

"Unless it just so happens that we look very much like a dom shacking up with his boy," snapped Bond.

That did the job in stopping whatever smart retort Q had in store for him. Q gawped at him, silenced and utterly horrified, and before he could say a word, M was pushing his intercom button. "I believe these two gentlemen are done here, Miss Moneypenny," he said as he glared at both Bond and Q.

"Sir, if you will hear my report," Q put in a bit desperately before they could be ushered out. "You did ask me to make one."

M sighed and settled back in his seat. "Five minutes," he said, nodding to Moneypenny who closed the door once again.

"R and I have finished running the diagnostics. There was no breach in our security, and I can assure you that my machines and devices have not been compromised. Even if the hacker or hackers have been careful, they've left some clues in their path. There are no foreign traces, therefore whoever sent the threat is much closer to home; it may even be an inside job."

There was a pause as M considered. "Well, that narrows it down considerably but it still does not answer one of our main concerns, which is, how extensive was the leak into your personal details and who is now privy to that information? This all brings us back to the start, and indeed a harder path as we begin an internal investigation. However, this does not argue against your immediate removal from the scene. Far from it."

Q seemed to deflate in his seat.

Bond nodded in agreement. "I don't suppose you have any enemies?" he asked Q. "Some people you've crossed swords with in or out of work, people who dislike or envy you? An ex perhaps?"

"No," said Q shortly, seemingly offended especially by the latter assertion. "And why would anyone envy me?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Bond rather casually. "You only happen to be the youngest Quartermaster in the entire history of MI6, after all, so I suppose some may see that as something to be envious about."

Q was silent for a moment before he said again, more quietly, "no. Everyone at Q branch has been lovely, and we've known each other for years without any incident. R, as you know, is completely reliable. There is Henry Flagen, our chief engineer and weapons specialist, and William Campbell, head of the IT department. There is-"

"Campbell, as in 'Call me W'," Bond sneered, remembering being introduced to the middle-aged Campbell, who had told him exactly that. Needless to say, Bond was not impressed with the man.

Q turned to him. "I know that Bill might appear...expansive at times, but he's a good-"

"Except he wants to be W," interrupted Bond impatiently. "I'd start my investigations with him, if I were you."

"That is a serious allegation," remarked M dryly. "I really do hope you have some solid evidence to back up your claim."

"Call it a hunch," returned Bond icily.

M stared at him before shifting his gaze back to Q. "Good luck, Q," he said rather feelingly. "Start your endorsements with R at Q branch, but there will be no contact with anyone else. Say nothing to her except that I have asked you to take some much-needed downtime. Afterward, 007 will accompany you home so you can pack and retrieve your devices for testing. Do it quickly. Moneypenny will help you with whatever else you and 007 would need for the mission."

"Sir." Without another word, Q stood up and made for the door. Bond followed.

"Q," he said as he paused by Moneypenny's desk, watching Q head straight for the outer door. "We need to-"

"Not one more word, 007," said Q, his voice harsh.

When he turned around, he was flushed and furious, eyes blazing a fiery emerald behind the glasses and, Jesus bloody Christ, he looked absolutely _gorgeous._

"I hope you're happy," said Q, his breathing rapid, as were his words. "You and your bloody games."

"What are you even implying," said Bond, hackles raised.

"Do you really enjoy it so much, this cat and mouse thing you have going?" returned Q, chest heaving. "Why did you do it, Bond, volunteering for this assignment? If it's just a reaction you want, well, congratulations-"

_Because I like you, goddammit._

"Because you need protection," growled Bond. Christ, the way this man can strip him of all patience in record time. "In case you haven't figured it out yet, we can't afford to lose you. You are too important."

That seemed to check Q's temper, and after an embarrassed glance at a frozen Moneypenny, he said, "I will be finished with R in an hour. Come around Q branch then, I'll need help with some equipment."

Bond watched him go, aware of several realizations coming one after the other about Q, stripped of his self-possession as his cool cover was blown for the first time and in so spectacular a fashion; and however he may treat Bond, he was actually far from unfeeling towards him.

* * *

Things only started sinking in when Q was in the car, heading home. Behind the wheel, 007 was cold and distant. Fuming, probably. Good. That made two of them.

How had things come to this? he wondered, not for the first time. Certainly, he'd not expected it, when he left home that morning, that he would be returning one last time.

These things happen, he told himself. Hadn't he envisioned an adventurous career ahead of him when he'd decided to join MI6 instead of the dull and quiet academic life that Cambridge had to offer?

Well, he was in the thick of it now, and he had to fist his hands in his lap to stop the tremors from showing. Beside him, 007 drove, coolly composed, oblivious to the turmoil that roiled within him, and he'd rather that 007 remain that way.

Inside the house at last. He left Bond in the living room while he pulled out the suitcase he'd bought ages ago that he'd barely used. In went his clothes, a week's worth of them, all neatly rolled and folded from shirts to underwear, from trousers to socks, all arranged according to color. Also some suits in their hangers, his coat, shoes. Inside the bathroom, his toiletries and shaving kit. He went about it all on autopilot while deep down inside he could hear a voice saying oh god, oh god over and over.

After depositing his luggage in the car, he came back to the living room to find Bond examining the cat tree stationed in one corner. He did not look pleased.

"They're around somewhere," he said. "Asi and le Carré. Just give me a minute with my laptop-"

"I trust you have a place to put them?" said 007.

"Their cages are in the closet by the front door. I've not had any use for them though," said Q distractedly while his mind raced ahead.

He had to get to his computer without Bond in the way.

He took a breath and said, "would you be so kind-?"

Bond stared at him for a moment before moving away.

Q moved quickly to activate his laptop. Focus, he thought as the screen's familiar black and white image came into view. He began typing the set of commands that would permanently erase certain files in his computer, rendering them untraceable by his minions and even GCHQ- a poison pill he'd devised a while back which he'd thought would come in handy one day. That time had finally arrived.

Bond moved back into the living room, two travelling cages in hand. "Q-" he said as he dumped the cages on the sofa and moved toward him.

He held up his hand. "In a minute, 007," he said, his voice coming out smooth even as his heart stuttered in his throat.

_Please god. Not one step further._

Bond paused, a smirk flitting through his lips. "Getting rid of your porn?" he said slyly.

Q snorted even as he felt ice sliding down his spine. "As if anyone can find my porn, 007," he replied lightly even as he watched the task bar slowly gaining traction. "I uh...I believe the cats may be in the kitchen..."

"Oh, Christ," muttered Bond as he rolled his eyes and made for the doorway.

Q breathed out a sigh of relief when he had a few minutes to himself.

_Hurry, hurry..._

There were so many files, he'd have to be careful in future not to accumulate so much stuff.

The last to go was his screen wallpaper, when he restarted his computer, and Q had to glance nervously at the doorway to make sure Bond was not there, because he was damned, damned, damned if the man ever saw his own picture, gracing Q's laptop screen.

At last, it was done.

"007?" he called, just as Bond returned from his expedition.

"I believe these are yours?" he said, holding two yowling and screeching furballs by the scruff of their necks, one in each hand, their paws dangling and scratching the air.

The noise that left Q was something he'd swear he'd never made before, halfway between a squeak and a shriek.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said, marching over to gather his feline companions from this...this bloody savage while trying to avoid the cats' claws.

"You'd best deal with them yourself next time," grunted Bond as Q coaxed them into the cages with difficulty. le Carré was especially stubborn, hissing and scratching at his hand as she was thrust into the narrow space. She would not forgive him easily, thought Q with an inward sigh.

"Are you done?" Bond said with just the slightest hint of exasperation.

"In a minute," Q replied as he made to gather his messenger bag. "I'll see you in the car."

He watched Bond heave the two cages out, muttering under his breath, before turning his attention back to his laptop.

He was about to shut it down when an email alert came in. He clicked on it.

The message consisted of one word.

_BOOM._

"Bond-" Q only got that far before he felt the violent inrush of air heralding the explosion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Notes:** Will be switching the rating to M after this chapter! Enjoy!

* * *

There was no question of traveling via train or plane after what happened (especially the latter if Q had his say), so Bond ended up driving the full seven hours to their destination.

The explosion had occurred just after he'd put the cats into the back seat of the car. The door was barely shut when he'd heard Q's faint cry from inside the house.

"_Bond—"_

It had happened then. The blast had been enough to rock the bullet-proof car that had shielded him. He'd felt the heat and convulsive shudder, the energy from the explosion nearly knocking him off his feet— nearly, but not enough to actually throw him. He'd known then that the bomb had detonated at the front of the house, where they had been only moments before.

He'd not registered the gaping hole it had made, had not remembered how he got there, but he was suddenly inside what remained of the living room, his voice a bellow: _"Q!"_

Through the debris and black smoke, there had been movement from underneath the charred desk at the end of the room and he'd seen that unruly mop of dark hair as Q emerged, pale and shaken but unscathed.

Time had seemed to skip once again and all he'd known was his hands fisting into Q's shirt, his coat, hauling him up.

"Wait, 007!" Q had yelled when Bond had got an arm around him, hauling him bodily forward relentlessly.

"Leave the fucking thing!" Bond had snarled when Q had reached out to grab at what remained of his laptop and his messenger bag.

"We can't!" Q had snapped back, his eyes wide and feral behind his glasses. Bond had expected fear, even terror, in those green depths but there had been none.

And then they had stumbled out, Bond still half-hauling, half-dragging Q out of the rubble of his home, their ears singing, half deafened. The air was thick with dust and acrid with smoke, leaving a white film on their clothes, their hair, filling their lungs, choking them. All that time, Q had been hugging his bag and computer, and he'd not protested when Bond had shoved him into the passenger seat of the car. He'd got behind the wheel and they'd sped away toward HQ, the cats screeching behind them in the car.

"Are you alright?" he'd asked Q, sharply.

"Fine," Q had replied somewhat irritably as he'd adjusted his glasses. "As you can see, I'm fine, 007. Kindly stop asking and just concentrate on the road."

"Well," Bond had said as he gathered his breath, quickly calming down. "So much for your mortgage."

That had been hours ago. Hours ago, when they had to stop by HQ for a change in vehicle and a quick status report with M before they were finally cleared to be on their way. M had stared Q down, I told you so written plainly on his features without him having to say a word. Q, wisely, had declined to argue further and had meekly turned himself over to whatever action Bond had decided for them. In that one small act of relinquishment, Bond had sensed what Q must already know, that his world had changed forever.

Now they were here, their destination finally reached without further incident. Bond turned to look at Q, fast asleep with head slightly tilted back and to the side, mouth softly open. Dust still clung to his hair, his clothes. His glasses were slightly askew. His arms were still around his messenger bag, devoid of his computers. Bond had never seen him without a semblance of poise wrapped around him like a cloak, and the sight of him now, open and unguarded in exhausted sleep, was a little endearing.

He cleared his throat loudly and Q jerked suddenly awake, eyes snapping open.

"We're here," said Bond succinctly as he got out of the car.

* * *

Q followed Bond quietly into the cottage, each of them laden with luggage.

"These are heavy," remarked Bond as he set down the special cases taken from Q branch.

"Equipment," said Q laconically as he placed the cat cages down and gingerly opened the doors.

For a moment, nothing happened, then Asimov slowly poked his nose out of the dark confines of his cage before easing his body all the way through, mewing plaintively. He was hungry. There was nothing from le Carré for a moment or two more, then there was sudden, frenzied activity as she shot through her cage, bounding across the room in a flash of striped grey and white before disappearing down the corridor.

Q merely shrugged when Bond shot him a look. "She's got her issues," was all he said. "She'll come around."

"Right," said Bond. "I'd suggest you freshen up and we can head down to the tavern for some dinner."

Q already had his back to him, reaching down to haul the first of the cases. "You go ahead," he said. "I'll start setting up."

"That's not how this bodyguard business works," said Bond flatly.

"Well, I'm not hungry," replied Q mutinously.

"Like hell you're not," countered Bond. "You've only had a sandwich on the road and that was six hours ago. Besides, they've swept the house and surrounding area before we came. Everything's clear."

Q opened his mouth to argue and thought better of it. He was very tired. The sooner things got done, the better. "All right," he said. "Let me just get the cats watered and fed, and we can be on our way."

* * *

"We'll need to work on our personas," said Bond as they made their way down the tree-lined avenue, now rapidly darkening with sunset. "For now, just remember the names and general details."

Q snorted. "Persephone," he said derisively. Somebody had the gall to name the entire operation Persephone.

"Well, that was M, not me," Bond was quick to point out.

"Oh, don't worry. It's the most appropriate thing in the entire mission outline," remarked Q caustically. "I'm going to hell, and you're Hades dragging me there."

There was a pause before Bond said, "You think this is all a game, don't you."

Q turned to face him, barely making out his features in the quickly gathering dusk. "Isn't it?" he said. "To you, at least?"

"If that's how you're going to see it, you may as well play it, and play it well," said Bond. "Who knows, we might end up even enjoying ourselves."

That was not what Q was expecting at all, and before he could muster a proper retort, Bond continued as he made to fish something out from his pocket, "by the way, before I forget."

It took a moment for him to realize what Bond had in his hand, and when he did, Q almost recoiled from the two objects nestled in Bond's open palm. "What—?" he asked and immediately felt foolish.

Bond's lips twisted into a small smile. "Our props," he said.

Q could see the gleam of gold even in the faint light and he had to tear his gaze away. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks and was glad it had gotten dark quite quickly. "I can't believe you're pushing through with this…this mad idea."

"Why not?" Bond's voice held more than a touch of exasperation.

"It's utterly sophomoric, that's why," cried Q. "Who's going to believe us?"

"Well, like I said, you give it a go, then. But if you can't think of a better scenario at the end of this evening," said Bond, the glower in his voice quite evident, "then take. The. Bloody. Ring."

"Fine," snapped Q as he snatched at his ring and put it in his pocket.

They resumed walking.

"We're colleagues, you and I," he said briskly. "We're here to get away from the city and write a book together."

"Nice try," answered Bond, sounding amused, "but no."

"Why the _hell _not?" retorted Q. "You said you're an instructor in some college or other. Aren't you supposed to be churning out an occasional publication or two?"

"And you're an IT specialist working from home," replied Bond. "How can we possibly be writing a book together?"

"I don't see why not," argued Q. "And I don't see why you can keep the name James and I'm stuck with Quinlan."

"Because," said Bond with elaborate patience, "just in case there is any slip of the tongue, it can be easily remedied. James is a common enough name. Q isn't."

Q stopped in his tracks to eye Bond narrowly. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" he said suspiciously.

"If that is praise coming from you, I suppose I ought to say thank you."

Q shook his head, stubbornly holding himself off from smiling. He was supposed to be angry, for god's sake. "Okay then. We're related, somehow. Through our mothers."

"Absolutely fucking not."

They continued with the light bickering and before he knew it, they were in the center of town. They made their way to the local tavern that spilled bright, cheery light from every window, casting a warm glow on the darkened pavement outside. The place was packed but they managed to find a table.

"I'm famished," said Bond as they were handed menus. "Their dinner will do for our first evening."

"You've been here then," said Q as he peered carefully around them.

"A few times when there's a need to get away," said Bond, already slipping into his persona with practiced ease.

"Right," said Q as he cast a casual glance at the noisy crowd around them once again.

He wasn't imagining it. Since they entered, every female eye had been upon them. Or more specifically, _upon Bond._

_Of course._

He was stupid not to have anticipated it. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He managed well enough until they had put in their orders—steak, medium rare, for Bond, roast chicken for himself (Bond wouldn't hear of him ordering just a salad, so that ended up as a side dish they would share as a sort of compromise)— then he quietly excused himself to go to the men's room.

He put out his hands against the sink to steady himself, willing his erratic breathing to even out. He'd never felt so humiliated, and he had only himself to blame.

Stupid, he thought once again. He'd thought himself quite knowledgeable and worldly, in that particular way well-read people thought they were. In actual practice, he couldn't believe the utter idiocy he was capable of. To think he was 007's quartermaster; he'd been in Bond's ear, guiding him through missions ranging from assassinations to honey traps all over the world. He thought he knew this man inside and out. How could he have not factored in the effect Bond had on women?

Because, of course, that was the reason why Bond had gone for the whole married bit, wedding rings and all: to keep unwanted attention and company away from them; and all Q could think of was the certainty that he was being toyed with.

Since when had he been so self-absorbed?

He could have said something, thought Q angrily, but the anger was almost immediately directed at himself. 007 was far too experienced and sophisticated, not to mention supremely confident, to have to go around convincing people that he was irresistible. The people who truly had what it took had no need to utter a single word; all they had to do was walk into a room, just like what Bond did.

He was a bloody fool not to have seen it at all. He'd been too busy worrying over Bond's hold over him.

Or maybe it's because you're just not good at reading people, he thought, staring hard at his reflection in the mirror. You've spent far too much time in your dungeon with the machines.

As with Silva's cunning, and now the threat to himself— he'd underestimated them all. And he'd underestimated Bond.

He thought of Bond, turning the head of every woman in the room (and perhaps a few men's as well) as he passed them all by. Bond, who just might be able to teach him a life lesson or two with his well-honed instinct for the strengths and weaknesses of human nature.

That's it, he thought as he took out the slim gold band from his pocket. He was doing it for that reason alone, not for the roiling darkness that coiled thick and poisonous in his gut when he'd seen the women ogling Bond. That black feeling was going to remain nameless, he decided, just as it had always been when he was Q to 007. It would remain firmly in the background. He would not even acknowledge its existence, much less allow it to take shape inside him.

If that's how you're going to see it, you may as well play it, and play it well, Bond had told him. Who knows, we might end up even enjoying ourselves.

Slowly, carefully, he put the ring on.

* * *

"Are you alright?" Bond asked when he returned to their table and Q realized he must have been away longer than he'd thought.

"My apologies," Q said, and his voice was once more his own as he slid back into his seat. "I had something to take care of."

"Well," said Bond, who clearly did not know what to make of his statement. "Let's hope you got it out of your system—"

Bond stopped short to stare at Q's well-shaped hands, folded in a deliberately casual way in front of him, one on top of the other on the red tablecloth, the gold ring prominent on Q's finger and gleaming softly in the dim light of the tavern.

"I have," Q replied calmly.

Bond raised his eyes to meet Q's gaze and Q raised a prim eyebrow at him, his eyes bright behind the glasses as he dared Bond to make a quip. Bond's smirk widened into a full smile.

"I knew you'd get there eventually," he said as he took out his own ring and slid it on.

Q smiled back.

_I don't know what the hell I am doing, so I'm afraid I'm just going to have to trust you, Bond. Let the game begin._


	6. Chapter 6

It must have been the upheaval and chaos of the past 24 hours that had set off the tumult inside Q, and now it slithered its way like dark tendrils into his unconscious, sleeping mind; because it had been a while since he'd dreamed of Alexandre, and longer still when he'd last thought of him.

But there he was, in Q's dream, just as he'd been when Q last saw him— handsome, golden, and not a day above twenty-four. Just as he had been when he broke Q's heart.

None of that mattered in Q's dream though. Against all rhyme and reason, Q still loved him with that curious, painful intensity reserved only for first loves. He would follow him anywhere, do anything he wanted. Alexandre needed only to say the word. Now Alexandre spoke, and although Q could not quite make out the words one by one, he understood that Alexandre was saying goodbye.

"Wait," he said, the word coming out as a gasp. "Please, wait."

Alexandre turned to go, his figure melting in the shadows that seemed to close in as if from nowhere, dimming Q's vision, dark as a tunnel. He stumbled, but continued to run blindly ahead. Q ran until the darkness began to lift again, until he could see ahead of him. And there up ahead was a blond figure with his back to him.

"Alex, wait," panted Q as he reached out with an urgent hand to touch the man's shoulder. He felt breathless, as though there were a heavy weight on his chest, pressing down.

"Alex—"

The figure turned, but it was not Alexandre. Q drew back sharply, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the man's hard features, the cold, startlingly blue eyes.

_"Bond—"_ Q awoke with a start, his heart beating rabbit-fast in his chest.

A dream, nothing but a dream. He sank back into his pillow with a muffled groan, his hands on his face as he breathed in deeply, in and out, in and out, until the dream and its hold on him finally ebbed away. His chest still felt heavy though, and it was only when he lifted his head fully that he registered Asimov nestled on top of him, purring softly.

"Silly old boy. Off you get now," he murmured, smiling slightly as he nudged Asimov to settle down on his side. Everything was a blur, he'd not don on his glasses yet. He enjoyed this quiet little pocket of time in the mornings when he was still fuzzy from sleep, the world as yet unfocused, his sharp mind slowly getting in gear before it snapped into full alertness. Some of his best ideas came to him at this time, but right now, all he could think about was the dream.

Now that the edge had worn off, he could feel the other, smaller things: a wistful sadness and a dull sense of loss, with a thin ribbon of desire winding through them, the cause for which he resolutely relegated to the usual morning spike of hormones: inside his pajamas he was rock-hard.

He lay there for a moment longer, snug under the covers, languidly stroking Asimov with one hand as he allowed his mind to wander.

Bond. It just had to be Bond, in the end. Why was he not surprised?

He sighed as he willed his body to calm down; otherwise he might have to do something about his state, and quite soon.

They had a nice dinner last evening, after he'd decided to put aside his hostility to the idea of their being married to each other. Bond had behaved superbly. He had been quite charming and chatty as he talked about everything and nothing. Almost against Q's will, the food and company had gradually revived him and made the horror they had endured earlier in the day recede so that it did not grip him so. By the end of it, he had almost grown accustomed to the occasional lingering glances of the other diners around them. He'd almost grown to enjoy being seen with Bond. He'd worn the ring to bed last night to better acclimatize himself and today, waking up in a strange bed, in a new place out in the middle of nowhere, and despite that weird dream, he felt at ease…safe.

Q frowned. His reminiscences were not working to help his body relax at all. If anything, he'd grown only harder at the thought of Bond's ring on his finger.

_Damn._

After a moment or so, he gave up and allowed his free hand to brush down his chest, delving under the covers to ghost down his abdomen. He closed his eyes, lips parting, welcoming the light touch as it teased a trail down his clothed erection.

It wasn't until he turned his head that he saw, through his imperfect vision, the blurred figure dressed in dark blue, standing by his open doorway.

Bond knocked belatedly on the open door just as Q shot up to sit in bed, his hand going for his glasses on the bedside table and nearly knocking them to the floor.

"Christ, Bond," he murmured as he quickly donned on his specs, bringing the man sharply into focus.

"Morning," said Bond easily, a slight smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. His voice was a low rumble, setting off a frisson that ran through Q like the touch of a hand. Bond looked remarkably younger and quite delectable in a navy blue sweater and jeans, his short blond hair neatly combed. "Your door was ajar… but it must have been the cat."

"Yes, right," said Q distractedly as he made to leave the bed before he remembered his condition, mercifully covered by the blankets.

"Take your time," said Bond, already turning away. "You're on holiday, after all."

That reminded him.

"What time is it?" Q asked, but Bond was gone. He peered at the bedside clock. "Oh, shit."

_Fuck,_ he thought. _Fuckfuckfuck!_

He paused for a moment, trying to remember: was it just in his dream or had he actually said Bond's name out loud?

* * *

He took a brief hot shower, then turned the tap to cold, but it did nothing to assuage his lamentable condition. If anything, the unexpected jolt he'd received from Bond had merely added fuel to the fire.

Bloody hell, and this was just their first day together. How was he supposed to cope?

He sighed as he rested his forehead against the tiled bathroom wall. There was no helping it, then. It would be better to just get it out of the way.

He trailed wet fingers down to take himself in hand, his grasp firm, just bordering on tight. He let out a soft, slow exhale as he began to stroke from root to tip, his movements long and unhurried and luxurious, just the way he liked it.

Sweet, he thought as he bit his lip, concentrating on the feel of his fingers as they glided over his length, imagining it to be somebody else's hand.

Christ, that felt good.

The dream ought to have bothered him, but now that he thought about it, Alexandre and Bond were of a type. He'd never really thought about it before. Certainly, he'd never looked at Bond and been reminded of Alex, but it seemed that he had a taste for certain men.

Was it the fate of shy, mousy boffins to be drawn to people who were their exact opposites?

He wasn't into bears, dear god, no, but certainly larger men who still managed to be lithe and graceful on their feet. That ought to have fit the description of almost all male double-O agents, but somehow, he'd only been fixated with Bond.

What was it about the man to exert such an effect on him?

And while there was a general similarity, there were also differences. Huge ones. Alexandre was tall and outgoing, gregarious, with a clever and wicked tongue. Bond was stockier, more well-built. And dangerous. So much more dangerous, as Q knew from experience. True to his naval background, Bond did not mince his words, and his rebellious streak had caused international incidents. Comparing the two men, Bond was a veritable tiger compared to a wolf who turned out to be sheep in wolf's clothing. There was easily no competition.

Alexandre had been amusing. Dealing with Bond had been something else entirely. He was challenging and addictive, like a drug. Q's encounters with him had meant planning several steps ahead, and preparing for the unexpected. Back in M's office, he had lashed out and accused Bond of playing games, but in truth, they both had. Their little game had kept him on his toes, had made him feel just a little bit more alive whenever Bond came to visit him in Q branch. It had been like a long-standing flirtation. Until recently he'd managed to gain the upper hand in most of their interactions, difficult as it may have been. That had only started to change yesterday as one by one, his defenses had started to crumble.

What would 007 think if he were to discover that his prim and proper Quartermaster liked things just a bit rough, just a bit dark and filthy? That he had a weakness for strong, difficult men? It was a recipe for disaster and Q had certainly never acted on any of it. Given his sensitive position in MI6, it was blackmail material, the stuff of honey traps. He had kept the compulsion tightly under wraps, but there it was, hidden but not vanquished, biding its time. He'd learned a painful lesson with Alex, but he'd not gone overboard with him and he'd managed to salvage his dignity when their relationship had ended; yet he had a feeling he just might give way and indulge with Bond, if he were not careful.

Especially with Bond dressed in a casual navy blue sweater and jeans, standing in his doorway earlier.

What had the man seen? Nothing much, Q supposed, as the thick blankets had shielded him, thank goodness.

But what if he had? Thought Q as he felt the coils of pleasure low in his belly, gathering slow and sure as he continued with his ministrations, delaying the moment for a little while longer, letting the delicious pressure build and grow.

What if Bond were here now, standing in the doorway of the bathroom, this tiger of a man watching, his gaze pale and hungry as Q touched himself? What would Bond do, knowing he was the cause for Q's morning arousal, the reason why Q was jerking off in the shower? The reason for the occasional flustered moment in the lab, during every mission briefing and debriefing. The reason why Q couldn't look at him for longer than a minute at a time. Had Bond ever wondered? Had he ever had a glimmer of suspicion as to what lay behind his Quartermaster's cool front that was nothing more than a façade, ready to fall away given the right moment, the right word, the right touch?

Standing there, framed in the doorway of the bathroom in Q's fevered imagination, would Bond just stay still, watching him stroke himself, or would he come in?

Try as he would, Q could not stop the gathering momentum. At the last thought of Bond entering his personal space, shedding his clothes before he reached out with a hand to touch him, Q stroked hard once, twice, and his orgasm was suddenly upon him. He bit his lip hard to stifle the moan that threatened to erupt from his throat as his world briefly dissolved in waves of pleasure.

When he opened his eyes, he was himself again. Slowly, he lifted his forehead from the tiled wall and rinsed himself off. Then he stepped out of the shower, grabbing for the towel. Pushing the wet locks of hair off his forehead, he put his glasses back on and turned to look at the bathroom door.

_Open the door, Bond. Tell me that you've been waiting on the other side._

The door, of course, remained stubbornly closed.


	7. Chapter 7

Q shaved and carefully dressed into a full ensemble of buttoned down shirt, tie and cardigan, with a pair of dark, checked trousers, determined to put as many layers of clothing like pieces of armor between himself and the rest of the world before he stepped out to look for Bond.

He wondered whether he ought to bring up that awkward scene by the doorway earlier, but decided to drop it when he found the man seated at the dining table, engaged in a staring contest with le Carré, who was crouched in one corner of the room.

Q sighed. "Well. At least she's done sulking," he said.

Bond turned to him. "Is she always like this?" he queried.

Q craned his neck, checking the dishes laid out with cat food and water several feet away. "Better than usual," he said. "At least she ate something during the night."

Bond continued to gaze at him, a question in his eyes, and after a pause, Q continued, "I got her from a rescue centre when she was a year old. She had some scars courtesy of her previous owner and given her…attitude, she was categorized as a harder to home cat, so I stepped in. She's not really that hard to deal with. You just need to give her a lot of space and respect."

"And the other one?"

Q shrugged. "Asimov used to get into fights and all sorts of scrapes around the neighborhood until I had him spayed," he said. "As you can see, now he's sweetly avuncular."

He saw Bond's mouth twitch into a smirk. "Ouch. And why the names?"

"Favorite authors, of course, from when I was young," said Q.

"When were you ever old?" queried Bond, the smirk now a small smile, and Q found that he had nothing to say to that and thought it best to change the subject. Luckily, his eyes alighted on breakfast that was laid out on the table: scrambled eggs and sausages, and a basket of fresh bread.

"You… cooked," Q said, somewhat dubiously. He remembered Bond ordering a couple of things to bring home from the tavern last night.

"No, I just called to have some things catered from outside," said Bond, still smiling that small smile which meant that he was teasing. His eyes followed Q to the sideboard as he made a cup of Earl Grey for himself.

"You didn't have to," replied Q as he took a seat opposite Bond. "Cook, I mean. But thank you."

"No need to thank me. I can do some light frying and putting things in the oven, but that's just about it," replied Bond. "I fix what I want to eat. I'm not sure if this is along your alley, though."

Bond must have seen the little bags of prunes and nuts that Q had occasionally brought to nibble on in Q branch to while away the long hours at work and figured he must be some sort of prudish herbivore.

"A bit of meat every now and then won't hurt," Q assured him bracingly as he took up his fork to help himself with some egg and sausage. "I'm sure this is delicious."

"You don't have to do anything to please me," said Bond, in a tone that carried just the slightest hint of a suggestion.

Q looked up at him. "Of course not, Bond," he said calmly. "If anything, it ought to be the other way around."

Bond blinked, but Q was already looking down at his plate, cutting his sausage precisely into small, bite-sized pieces. After a moment, Q glanced up at him, his green eyes mischievous, and Bond's smile widened.

The little minx, he thought. It was nice to know that a good night's sleep had restored some of Q's defenses. Defenses he wouldn't mind tearing down all over again, at his leisure this time.

So what was that scene earlier, when he'd thought he heard his name being called, only to see Q still in bed, looking dreamy and languid?

There was something there, something that Bond had sensed time and again in Q but which continued to elude him. The moment he thought he could close his hands around it, it went up in smoke.

He watched Q as he ate a carefully prepared forkful of egg and sausage, wondering not for the first time how any man could be so waiflike and achingly beautiful, with that naturally red, expressive mouth; that thick, wavy hair the color of dark chocolate in sharp contrast to his alabaster skin. They'd known each other for two years and Q had managed to remain an enigma to him the entire time. That just wouldn't do.

"Are the cameras working?" Q asked suddenly, his tone formal and business-like, as though he'd sensed Bond staring (which he was).

"Perfectly," Bond replied.

Q stretched out a slim, shapely hand. "Give it here," he said.

Bond handed Q his mobile, saying, "you're not allowed to colonize my phone, mind. And you're not allowed to go online yet."

"I can wipe my tracks clean from your phone so that you wouldn't even know that I was there," Q said matter-of-factly.

That succeeded in wiping the smile off Bond's face completely, and Q hastily continued, "but no, I won't go online as myself, as I promised. Besides, M has removed my access to work-related matters."

"Well, that's good to hear."

Q gazed earnestly at Bond. "I know I've caused more than enough trouble yesterday," he said. "I promise I won't make it any harder on you than necessary, Bond."

Bond merely nodded after a moment and watched as Q went back to examining his own handiwork in Bond's phone. He wondered if withdrawal symptoms were kicking in yet. Considering how much Q's work (and presumably his life) was centered online, it must be hard not to be able to access the internet. Bond knew people who could not live without their phones, checking in almost every minute of everyday, but it seemed that Q was sticking to the script, at least for now.

As soon as they'd returned from dinner last night, Q had insisted on installing the video cams outside, dotting the perimeters of the cottage, and linking the videos to a specially created app that he had installed in Bond's phone. All his equipment had come from his messenger bag and the cases he'd brought from Q branch, and he'd promised to introduce Bond to an entire cache of weapons for his own use.

Q hummed when he was finished. "Lovely," he merely said as he returned Bond's phone. "I've got one more trick up my sleeve, and then we're all set."

* * *

After breakfast, they went out together to circle the cottage. It was situated prettily with a small garden and flower hedges, with ivy partly covering the stone walls. Cozy as it looked, it was a very efficient safehouse masquerading as a timeshare. Over the years, embellishments had been gradually added, such as bulletproof windows. Right now, Q was more interested in the doorknobs, and he carried in his gloved hands a spray can and a piece of cloth.

"Can't be too careful in the age of Novichok," he said. "I've developed this simple concoction that you can rub onto surfaces. To the untrained eye, it will appear as nothing but a metal polish, but it will change color when anything suspicious is applied onto the door handles."

Bond smiled. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"It's my job, 007," said Q crisply as he got busy with his spray can and cloth, rubbing the door handles until they positively gleamed.

"Let's wait for it to set. Half an hour should do," said Q as he finished with his task.

"Moneypenny called earlier, said she'll be flying in tomorrow evening with your computers as soon as they've been cleared by HQ," said Bond.

"Good, she can join us for dinner."

"Of course," Bond replied. "I've also asked her to bring Rufus."

Q straightened up. "Who, or what, is Rufus?"

"Our alarm system and deterrent rolled into one."

"But we already have one."

"Nothing beats the natural kind. Besides, your animals are perfectly useless in any given situation," said Bond.

"I resent that, Bond," said Q lightly, then he froze when Bond placed a light hand on his shoulder.

"You should get used to this," Bond said as he moved to squeeze gently at Q's suddenly stiff muscles. "Married couples sometimes touch each other, you know, and in public, no less."

Q shot him a look that told him he wasn't fooling anyone. "You just enjoy making me uncomfortable," he grumbled.

"Do I—" asked Bond, amused. Yet before he was finished speaking, Q's hand was on his chest, his fingertips hard as he pushed Bond a step back.

Bond looked at that long-fingered hand, then at Q. "You can push harder," he said softly. "I promise I won't break."

"I can assure you when push shoves, I shall do whatever it takes," Q promised him, his green gaze unwavering as he stared back at Bond.

Bond's smirk was back, playing faintly on his lips. "And we may also be required to kiss—"

Q turned away, signaling that their little discussion was at an end. "Don't push your luck, Bond," he warned, his jaw set as he moved to put some space between them. "So what's next? It's hardly time to start watching telly."

Bond smiled as he watched Q withdraw, all adorable ruffled feathers. "I thought we might go out shopping today," he said.

"Excellent," Q said shortly, not looking at him, although Bond could see that the tips of his ears were pink, "we need milk, and some supplies for the cats. The poor things had to make do with nothing but a pile of old newspapers last night. Before going out though, I think you may want to get acquainted with your tech?"

"Yes, sir," murmured Bond as he made to follow Q back into the house. Since last night, Q seemed to have made a decision based on a possible misunderstanding of their situation that Bond had yet to figure out. Now, he was flinging himself into the mission, he was trying so hard, the poor man seemed hell-bent on making this entire venture work despite how he actually felt that Bond almost felt pity for him.

It was early days yet. Perhaps soon, he would be able to make Q relax around him more.

He was looking forward to it.

* * *

Q began fleshing out their relationship when they were in the car, headed for the next town half an hour away which had a larger shopping centre. The only requirement was that Q build around Bond's persona which was already laid down after years of sporadically using the cottage on various missions. He was not allowed to change it. "Let's see. You're a language teacher at Weymouth College, and I was your student for a few semesters learning… French."

Q made a grimace. "Okay, so I was in Weymouth for a year or so before transferring to Imperial College London?"

Bond made a small, encouraging noise as he drove. "Go on."

"Right, anyway," said Q. "That ought to explain the age difference between us. So—"

"Of course, you seduced me," Bond continued, smiling as he stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes on the road. It was raining slightly. "Or else why would a beautiful, young creature like you end up with a run-down, small-time college instructor like me?"

Q rolled his eyes. "Can we please be half-serious for even a minute, 007—"

"James."

"James," Q amended. "And I see what you're doing. Run-down, small-time? Clever of you, Bond."

"James," Bond said again. "And what was I doing?"

"I wouldn't think you'd stoop to fishing but I suppose I can be mistaken from time to time," said Q. "Anyway, I don't think anyone is going to dig this deep—"

"You'll never know," warned Bond.

Q took a breath and forged ahead: "All right. I will admit that I was much taken by you when I was in your class. But then I never said anything, you never did anything…untoward. We met again much later, after I've graduated from Imperial, and—"

"We met again in a conference."

"Right," said Q, nodding, as they let the ball of yarn unspool slowly. He frowned. "Well, I suppose we can meld languages together with an IT agenda. Perhaps your computer needed to be debugged."

"How will you account for your accent?" Bond suddenly asked.

Q blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're too posh to be coming from anywhere near Dorset," remarked James. "You and your wardrobe."

Q looked down at his patchwork indigo-dyed, cable-knit cotton cardigan from Beams Plus under his blue checkered jacket and remarked dryly, "welcome to the wild and wonderful world of online shopping. What, you've never tried it before? I highly recommend it, Bond. Once you start, I can assure you that you will find it hard to stop, especially when you're working as an IT specialist in the City, earning a six-figure salary."

Bond's smirk widened. "Touché."

Q sighed as he thought of something. "We may need to set up some social media pages, just to make everything look more authentic. Of course, we can opt to keep them private."

"That won't be a problem."

"No. The problem is, to anyone who'll see you, you don't look remotely like a college instructor," complained Q. "You look like…"

"What?" Bond prodded after Q trailed off.

A provocateur, thought Q. An international man of mystery. A tiger.

"I don't know. Just not an academic," Q finally managed.

Bond cast him an amused glance. "You don't think I'll be able to pull it off?"

"You always tended toward mayhem and destruction in your missions," Q merely said.

"Watch me."

They pulled into the parking lot of a Tesco.

"I didn't think it would be this difficult, concocting the background of an average persona," Q confessed ruefully as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Welcome to my world, Quinlan."

Q took care of the cat supplies quickly, purchasing two cat beds, a cat litter and more food, as well as a few toys. He went through the hardware section as well, looking for some wires and tools that he would need for his tinkering. Bond merely tailed after him, and looked rather doting, allowing himself to be ordered about to fetch some small item or other while Q busied himself with his to-do list.

Finally, he'd volunteered to make dinner for Moneypenny when she came to visit, and wouldn't hear of buying anything from the frozen section of the supermarket. They drove back home, laden with supplies, and decided to walk back to the town square where they had spotted a nice wine cellar and a shop selling fresh produce near the tavern the night before.

"We're running late. We still need to think about lunch after this," Q said as Bond made a beeline for the wine cellar. "What say I drop by the produce shop now to pick up some salmon? It's just next door. You can get some white wine to go with it."

Q started as he felt Bond suddenly close a hand on his waist, pulling him in beside him.

Bond's voice was level and entirely reasonable when he leaned in to say, "you promised you won't be difficult. And remember what I told you about how this entire bodyguard business works? You'll just have to get used to the fact that we're now as good as joined at the hip."

Q set his mouth into a thin, stubborn line, but before he could say anything, Bond removed his hand from his waist and stepped away. Bond got some scotch and red wine, but he made Q select the white wine that would go with the salmon.

"See?" said Bond as they finally made their way over to the produce shop. "That didn't take fifteen minutes."

_You're overthinking things,_ Q would have wanted to say, but then that would be foolish, because it was exactly 007's job to do so. He watched Bond nonchalantly take in the interiors of the produce shop as they set foot inside, just as he had done at the wine cellar, and knew that he was casing the place for possible threats, noting the windows and exits, the people, everything.

Q breathed out a small sigh as he made his way to the fish section, leaving Bond by the meat and poultry. There weren't a lot of people inside the shop, to begin with, just three or four other shoppers, their backs to him, busy picking out their choices from the fresh meats and fish on display. Absolutely nothing suspicious to worry about.

"Hullo," he said brightly to the lady behind the counter as he leaned in to inspect the goods on display. "I'll have some of that beautiful salmon fillet you've got there. Yes, a kilo ought to do it, thank you."

"Are you visiting these parts, sir?" she asked, smiling.

"Oh, yes," he said, beaming as he watched the fish being wrapped. "This is my first time in these parts. Quite lovely! I've always wanted—"

That was when the voice came behind him, entirely unexpected, like a punch to the kidneys.

"Colin?"

* * *

**Author's Notes:** I LOVE Q's quirky fashion sense! Personally, I think he would be right at home in Tokyo, where geek chic rules. Take for example one of the cardigans he wore in Spectre which was from Beams Plus, a Japanese brand (thanks to ajb007, a 007 discussion forum delving chiefly on the clothes worn by various characters for pointing this out). I have taken a page from this detail to dress him in that patchwork indigo-dyed, cable-knit cotton cardigan, another creation by Beams Plus.


	8. Chapter 8

"Colin?" the voice came from behind him and Q froze.

Except in his dreams, he had not heard that voice in more than ten years.

He turned, time seeming to slow down like the flow of molasses. His mind was still in shock, wondering if he were imagining things, yet there stood the man, hardly an arm's breadth away, behind him.

"Alex?" Q said, his eyes wide, and the man was already taking his hand and shaking it.

"It's really you," said Alexandre, smiling and shaking his head in disbelief. "You've not changed a bit. How are you, Colin?"

"I'm…good," Q said, making an effort to shut his gaping mouth. Bad habit of his, really. "I'm brilliant. How are you?"

"Fine, fine," returned Alex, and he looked just that. Older, with more laugh lines around the eyes, perhaps, but still as boyishly handsome as before. "Fiona and I are staying here for a few days. I…Colin, it's been so long. Ten years, is it?"

"Yes," Q replied, trying not to cast a frantic eye around them for Bond.

_Help!_ He thought.

"Fancy meeting you here," said Alex, his surprise quickly giving way to his usual, drawling ease. Q had almost forgotten his slickness, like an oil spill. "I don't remember you as the type to want to go places."

"Well, no," said Q. "Umm. Actually, I'm here with someone."

Alex lifted a teasing brow. "Really?" he said.

"Umm," said Q, wishing the floor could open up and just swallow him whole.

_Where the hell was 007?_

He turned his head and Bond was suddenly there at his side, effortlessly sliding an arm around his waist, cradling him, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Q turned back just as Alex did a double take. It was…priceless.

Oh god, Q thought next, relief and alarm washing through him in equal measure. Now here comes the part where he calls me Quinlan and everything comes crashing down.

Yet Bond, when he spoke— his voice coming out in a low rumble— surprised him with, "darling?"

Despite his thoughts and the conflict raging within him, Q found himself settling into Bond's one-armed embrace. He was so close that he could feel the outline of Bond's Walther in its gun holster, carefully concealed inside his jacket.

"Yes," said Q, nodding once as if for emphasis. "James, this is my friend from university, Alex. Alex, this is James. My husband."

Bond gave an easy smile, his face breaking out into wrinkles as he extended a hand. "How do you do," he said politely and it was worth it. It was definitely worth it, seeing Alex's flabbergasted expression when Q mentioned the word husband. Q was not a vindictive person at heart but it would be no exaggeration to say that he'd fantasized about this scenario for a long, long time.

"It's been far too long," said Alex as he gazed from Q to James and back. "We need to catch up on things. Have you guys had lunch? What say we—"

"Oh, that won't do, sorry," said Q quickly. "We have a previous engagement, and—"

"Dinner, then? Tonight?" said Alex eagerly. That was another of his traits that Q had nearly forgotten: dogged persistence.

"Ah—"

Bond stepped in. "Dinner would be great," he said.

Q gaped at him. "But Eve—" he began.

"—Won't be coming until tomorrow, or have you forgotten, love?" replied Bond. He turned back to Alex, his bearing casual. "Anyway, I would love to meet Colin's friends, he doesn't tell me much about them. He's all work, work, work."

"That's the Colin I know," said Alex, nodding. "So, 8 pm tonight at The Oak restaurant? Can't miss it, it's the only one serving French around here."

Bond nodded. "We'll be there," he said.

"Bond," hissed Q as soon as they were out of the shop and walking homeward. "That was insane—"

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it," said Bond.

"—and brilliant," said Q, grinning.

_Christ,_ thought Bond, seeing that wide smile of helpless delight on Q's face. Bond had never seen him smile like that before. All Q had ever given him were thin-lipped, polite ones, and sometimes a sardonic smirk or two when Bond deserved them, but never something like this; never something that made Q glow from within for even just a few seconds so that he looked radiantly happy. Bond had never seen him so chuffed, his face flushed with a mixture of incredulity, embarrassment and pleasure. It was as if the mask had suddenly dropped, giving him a raw glimpse of the young man behind the awesome job title, one of the nation's most important so that he was known only by a single letter of the alphabet.

"Oh my god." Q shook his head again. "Give me a moment, please. That was...unexpected."

Bond watched as Q quickly collected himself, the mask already lowering back in place.

"Boyfriend?" He hazarded, before Q could fully raise the drawbridge back into himself.

"Former," corrected Q. "And it was many years ago."

Bond could see that he was going to be stingy on the details. "You'll have to fill me in before dinner," he said. "We wouldn't want to trip up on our story."

Q sighed. "You shouldn't have accepted his invitation in the first place," he said. "I'm content to just let it go. It's enough for him to see that I've moved on."

There was a pause before he added hesitantly, "does this count as a breach in security?"

Bond considered. "The risk is minimal," he said. "I don't believe anyone else heard him."

"You did, though."

"I did, but that was because I was already moving in," replied Bond.

"So…we don't actually have to do anything for now?"

"No, but I will need to evaluate him further later to see if he does constitute a risk." Half truths came so naturally to Bond. It had served him well through the years. "We'll have to consolidate my persona. Obviously the language teacher isn't going to cut it in this case."

"Right," said Q a bit unhappily. "Of course."

"He broke your heart, didn't he?" inquired Bond next.

_I'll kill him_, he thought, and did not pause to consider where that came from.

Q straightened his shoulders, and when he spoke, his voice was firm and authoritative, the way he would address Bond when they were both in Q branch: "I hardly think that's relevant, and I'm not allowing you to dig into my—"

"I will need general details, at least," Bond interrupted smoothly, "if we want everything to sound authentic. You don't want me to blow my cover in front of your friend."

"Former friend," Q corrected him yet again. "We've lost touch for more than a decade. That should give us ample cover, Bond."

"Lead the way, then."

* * *

Q sat him down after their late lunch. Bond could tell that he was nervous, the way that he was twisting the ring on his finger.

Bond spoke before Q could say anything, "I don't mean to pry. You can opt not to tell me anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Q nodded. "I know, Bond," he said softly. "It's not what you think. It's just…my story is going to sound like a nursery rhyme compared to your operatic love affairs."

Bond raised a brow at Q's words, but if he thought about it, operatic would not be a bad choice to describe some of the romantic scrapes he'd been through.

Q took a deep breath and said, "you're right, of course. Was it that obvious that you saw it immediately? He did break my heart. What can you expect of your first time being in love?"

That should not have pulled at Bond, but it did.

"I was nineteen, he was twenty three, in our third year in Cambridge," said Q. "He claimed he was having difficulty with one of the Maths subjects, and he hounded me for weeks, trying to get me to tutor him."

"You didn't give in quickly," noted Bond.

"I was…wary, I suppose," said Q, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "At first I thought I was in for a practical joke. What could we possibly have in common? He was rich and good-looking, with his own circle of friends. And yes, his name ends in -dre rather than the usual –der because he has a French mother. His surname is St. John Smythe, which means—"

"He's a pretentious little prick," supplied Bond helpfully.

Q had to smile at that.

"—Which means that he's from an old, landed family," he continued. "My family is solidly academic, but not moneyed, and nowhere near landed. My friends are mostly online entities. I told myself it would be best not to let anything start between us, yet he was quite persuasive, overwhelming when he chose to lavish his full attention on you. I think that was what got to me. I'd never had that before. It's a bit like having the sun on you while everybody else was cast into shadow. That kind of attention was blinding, in a good sort of way. Sorry. I'm not telling this story properly."

"Go on," said Bond.

"Well, what is there to say except that in the end, I fell for him hook, line and sinker?" said Q. "We had half a year together, and everyday had seemed like summer. Then, he started fading away. A couple of missed calls here and there, dates cancelled at the last minute, always with a plausible excuse. Busy schedules that we suddenly could not align. We were graduating, after all. There were so many things to be done, loose ends to tie up. It wasn't until I chanced to see him with the aristocratic girlfriend whom he ended up marrying that everything clicked into place."

_I will kill him_, thought Bond clearly.

"I couldn't believe it, at first. Tried to invent all sorts of excuses on his behalf. When it became clearer and clearer that I was actually the third party involved, well…"

Q trailed off, his eyes far away for a few moments before he glanced back at Bond.

"That's it, I'm afraid," he said simply. "My apologies if you're looking for a suitable climax to the story. There just isn't one."

"Did you sleep with him?"

Q's head snapped up, his green eyes as hard as the line of his mouth. "Now, Bond," he said, the warning in his voice clear. "Whatever happened to 'I don't mean to pry'?"

Is this why you're so closed off…so aloof with me, thought Bond as he gazed at Q, not backing down. All because of this arsehole who made you build that impenetrable fortress around your heart?

Whatever Q saw in Bond's expression seemed to make him reconsider. "All right. Yes," Q finally said, and Bond felt something within him sink. "Since you want to know so badly. Perhaps you might also want to know how much I cried afterward. How I…begged. I would not have put it past myself to grovel at that point, if I thought that would bring him back. Is that what you want to know? That's what first love does, yes? Reduce you to nothing but a bloody fool, an IQ of 174 be damned."

Q glanced up at Bond then quickly looked away. "Like I said, it's a playground tiff compared to what you're used to. I've read your file, of course."

Of course, thought Bond. He said, "what matters is you got hurt."

Q shrugged. "It wasn't anything major. Growing pains and all that. Obviously, I learned my lesson and I've moved on."

"Well, this is an excellent opportunity then," Bond said. "Don't let it go to waste."

"No, Bond, we're not going there," said Q witheringly.

"Who knows? It could be fun, rubbing his face in."

"Fun?" said Q as he stared at him in disbelief. "This is infantile. I've got over him. In fact, we shouldn't have accepted his dinner invitation. If we'd got his number, I would have called to cancel it."

"Yet you chose to introduce me as James, your husband."

"What was I supposed to do? Tell him the truth, that you're a double-O agent from MI6 and my bodyguard?" retorted Q.

Bond abruptly changed tact. "What did he tell you, when you went to him, crying?"

"What is the point of this, Bond?" said Q, exasperated.

Bond was inexorable. "What did he say?"

Q stared at him for a moment, throat working, then, "he said he was sorry that I had got things wrong. He'd never meant to lead me on. He even sent me an invitation to his wedding, to show that there were no hard feelings."

Bond actually let out a soft laugh at that. "We are definitely doing this," he said. "Think of this as my way of saying thank you for all the times you had my back in the field."

"Look, if you're not going to be the adult here, then I will be," retorted Q, an angry flush creeping into his cheeks. He looked adorable. "We are not—"

"Help me with my persona."

"Bond—"

"You don't have to say much. You can just sit there and let me do all the talking, if you're uncomfortable," said Bond. "Now. Your background, after graduating."

"My first PhD was in IT, Cambridge," said Q after a longish pause where he bit on the inside of his cheek as he struggled with Bond's plan before apparently giving in. "My dissertation was in cybersecurity. Do you remember when I told you about the type of computer safeguarding program that only six people in the world knew how to design and which I invented? I was working on the prototype then. Apparently, one of my professors knew the old Q— Major Boothroyd— and I was introduced to him at a conference where I was presenting one of my papers. That was how I was recruited into MI6."

"How old were you then?" Bond queried.

"Twenty-three."

Bond gave a low whistle which Q ignored. "The second PhD was in weapons engineering," he said. "Before MI6 I knew next to nothing about weaponry, and I suppose it would be no exaggeration to say that it was love at first sight."

Bond smiled. "I can imagine."

"So the old Major sent me off to Cranfield, all expenses paid, while I continued working in Q branch. Henry Flagen was, and continues to be, a huge help, as you know. We've been upgrading the weapons you use in the field based on the latest cutting-edge technology, and our next step will be introducing AI into the mix."

"I'm looking forward to it," said Bond.

"So, that's it," said Q with a shrug. "I don't know how you can weave any of that into your persona."

"Let's make it as simple as possible to avoid any possible entanglements," said Bond. "You're in IT specializing in cybersecurity, and I'm in private security. We met through work. I'll leave it to you to find a likely company and flesh out the details."

"All right,"Q said. "That… would actually work."

"Of course it will," Bond assured him. "Now, when were we married?"

"Oh. Well…"

"Six months ago," Bond said. "That ought to make it fresh enough for us that we're still getting used to each other."

"Okay," Q said with what appeared to be a grudging smile.

"In the course of the evening, I will need to touch you time and again, just like in the produce shop," Bond advised. "I'd really appreciate it if you don't startle."

"I'll…try."

"And one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Can I kiss you?" Bond asked, perfectly straight-faced.

Q gave him a beatific smile. "Absolutely not," he said.

* * *

Q did not know what possessed him to spill himself all over Bond like that, he honestly didn't. That man and his devilish manipulation tactics, sitting there lending him an ear, half-encouraging, half-goading him into telling him things. He should have seen it for what it was.

Now it was too late. Now they were making their way to dinner, their little story neatly hammered out to be tried and tested.

This was utterly ridiculous, yet it could not eclipse how he'd told Bond that he'd slept with Alexandre. That had been the height of stupidity. He really did not know how it came to be. He could swear on a stack of bibles that he did not know what had made him do it, but the strange thing was, it felt like a load had been lifted from his shoulders, especially when Bond had been so decidedly non-judgemental.

Why the hell would Bond want to know about his past, anyway? Yet he had, and for some unfathomable reason Q had somehow felt the need to convince him that he was no wet-behind-the-ears virgin…which only goes to show how inexperienced he truly was in dealing with the likes of Bond outside work.

What was it about this man that could make him lose his mental faculties like this?

This was all going to go to shit, he could just feel it. Yet beside him, Bond was utterly relaxed, his strides long and easy as they made their way to the restaurant. It was only there, when they were shaking hands once again with Alexandre, minus his wife who was not feeling well, that Q realized how effortlessly Bond had slipped into the role of James Fisher.

He'd suggested the surname earlier to Bond, half in jest, for the way he had been brazenly snooping around his background, fishing for information. Bond had gamely incorporated the name into his persona then and there.

Conversation flowed smoothly as Bond effortlessly took the helm. Q glanced at him and had to admit he looked different— understatedly handsome in a black sweater and grey tie, with a grey sports coat. His frank, open demeanor looked completely natural, his brow clear and the lines of his face relaxed. In short, Q was witnessing a double-O agent getting into gear in real time.

"So," said Alexandre to Q as they started on the first course. "You and James? How long…?"

"Six months," said Q succinctly before he went back to his soup. "So, uh, do you holiday here often, Alex?"

"Not really," said Alex. "We thought we'd try it out this once, get away from it all for a few days. Unfortunately Fiona has come down with one of her notorious migraines. So how did you two meet?"

"Through work," supplied Bond laconically. "This is a lovely place, isn't it? Far enough away from everything so that it's almost secluded. It's just what Colin and I needed."

"Let me guess, it's difficult to pry him from his computers?" said Alex wryly, glancing knowingly at Q. Q hated his proprietary smugness and wondered how he'd thought it charming, once upon a time.

Bond's smile widened. "Oh, for now I've got him all to myself, haven't I, darling?"

Q could feel himself flushing. He replied softly, "haven't you got tired of me during the honeymoon, James? It was mere months ago."

_Bloody Jesus Christ, where the hell did that come from?_

He glanced up shyly after a moment to see Bond grinning— actually grinning— at him.

"I wouldn't mind having a second one right now," Bond tossed back at him smoothly.

"So, uh," Alexandre broke in, clearly sounding discomfited. "You're in private security, James?"

His tone was politely skeptical.

"Yes," answered Bond. "I don't look it, do I?"

Q nearly snorted into his soup. Bond was probably feeling pleased as punch that his persona was working like a charm, if all Alex could see was his mild, weathered exterior.

"I'm past my prime. Nowadays I'm stuck behind a desk, just like Colin."

"Oh. More time to relax then, engage in some hobbies."

"Well, I do like the outdoors," Bond replied brightly. "I've been trying to get Colin to go out more, just like what we're doing now. He's not very receptive, had to drag him here kicking and screaming—"

"I did not kick and scream," Q interjected mildly.

"—But if the outdoors don't work, at least we share an interest in pictures."

Alex lit up. "Oh?"

_Shit,_ thought Q. He'd forgotten to mention that Alex had been into Renaissance art.

"Yes," said Bond, nonchalantly reaching out to take Q's hand in his. "In fact, our first date was in the National Gallery."

Q looked at Bond sharply, and all Bond did was hold his gaze, the light in his own eyes fond.

"I thought I was never going to be able to get him to go out with me," said Bond softly. "He was like a shadow at work, difficult to pin down. Finally he must have taken pity and suggested meeting up at the Gallery on a Sunday morning. So there I was, in front of the Temeraire, looking about as washed up as that bloody ship. I was at a low ebb then. Then in came this young man who sat down right beside me, wrapped up in his duffel coat, and started talking about the inevitability of time."

Q stared at Bond and felt as though he'd forgotten how to breathe. Bond glanced back at him, warm malice dancing in those pale eyes.

"No doubt, he'd probably meant to put me in my place with the comparison, but it was spot on, all of it," continued Bond. "And it made me realize that he saw me quite clearly. He knew me in that instant more than I did myself, just when I thought he couldn't possibly give a damn about me at work. He knew me yet he was willing to throw in his lot with me. And he never let me down, not even once."

It took a moment for Q to respond. "I…didn't think you would remember that at all," he said as he stared, fascinated, at their linked hands, their rings glinting in the soft light and Bond's thumb lightly caressing his skin.

Bond gave him a fond squeeze. "How can I forget? As first dates go, ours was quite…remarkable," he said, smiling. Somewhere in the blue depths of his gaze lurked a wink, just for Q.

That seemed to put a lid on Alex's curiosity, and after a few awkward minutes, they passed the evening pleasantly enough on other matters.

After the dinner, Alex tried to get Q's number. Bond smilingly gave him his. Q could not wait to leave, but Bond was not quite finished yet. As they were making their farewells, he was quick to notice that Q had not brought along his gloves. "Again?" he said.

"No worries," said Q briskly as he patted the sides of his coat. "That's what pockets are for."

Wordlessly, Bond took Q's bare hand in his and slid it into his own coat pocket. "Thanks again for dinner, we'll see you," he called out to Alex before they turned and started down the road.

After a few blocks, Q managed to say, "I think you can let me out of your pocket now. Really Bond, don't you think you were overdoing it just a bit?"

"To look at the expression on his face, I don't think so," said Bond as he released Q's hand. "Well, that turned out to be an enjoyable evening. He shut up after the Gallery. Did I miss anything?"

Q shook his head bemusedly. "You hit the nail on the head with that one," he replied. "Alex knew how much the Gallery meant to me. Still does."

Bond glanced at him. "Did you take him there on one of your dates?"

"Let's just say I reserve it for special occasions," said Q somewhat stiffly.

"Including meeting me?"

"Yes, 007," he said softly. "Including you."

"I'm flattered," said Bond lightly.

"It's a good thing the wife didn't show up tonight," said Q. "Just consider how awkward it would have been if she was there."

"There's probably no more wife at this point," said Bond. "I wouldn't be surprised if they are divorcing, or have recently divorced."

"Oh?" said Q. "And how do you know? Don't tell me you can pick it up from his clothes or some other small detail ala Sherlock Holmes."

"Trust me, if the wife is still around and even if that migraine turned out to be an aneurysm, he would have dragged her to that dinner and shown her off."

"Oh," Q said again and fell silent.

He was relieved to see their cottage as it came into sight.

"You didn't have to do any of this tonight, Bond," said Q as he watched Bond unlock the door and step in first to check before they entered the foyer, "this went far beyond the call of duty, but… thank you."

Even if you probably didn't mean half of what you said back there.

"No need to thank me," said Bond, locking the door securely behind them, "but you're welcome. It's a small recompense for everything you've done for me, Q."

"It's my job to oversee you in the field as needed, 007," said Q dryly as he began to take off his coat.

Bond turned back to look at him. "And outside work?"

Q considered. "Of course, I'd still do what I can to help you," he said. "If you need me."

"Exactly my point," said Bond, nodding. "So why think I'd do it any differently?"

Q opened his mouth, then shut it. How could he put it into words that he'd been glad to help Bond when he needed him and had not expected anything in return? This was why he couldn't see past this thing that Bond had presented to him, like a fabulous gift that had come from nowhere. It was as though they were…friends.

"Of course, the cherry on top of the cake this evening would have been if you allowed me to kiss you," said Bond next.

Then again, they were back to square one. "Bond—"

Bond reached out a finger to poke Q on the side of the forehead. "It would have gone there," he said softly. "I can promise you that would have cost your friend an entire night's sleep."

Not as much as it would cost me, thought Q wryly.

He tried for archness. "I appreciate your repeated kind offer, but it just won't be necessary—"

"I wasn't being kind."

It was difficult making out Bond's features in the shadows of the foyer, but his tone gave Q pause.

"Well. Perhaps there might be some use for it in future," Q said awkwardly, giving voice to the first thing that came to mind. He was too busy thinking that he ought to get as far away as possible from Bond. It was either that or he closed the space between them.

"We'll never know. I'm looking forward to it," said Bond as he finally moved toward the living room, and in the soft lamplight, his face and tone of voice were once again his own. "Good night then, Q."

* * *

**More Author's Notes:** The surnames Fisher and St. John Smythe were actually used by Bond as aliases in the Fleming books.


	9. Chapter 9

When they started this venture, Q worried that he would have too much empty time in his hands—vast stretches of hours with no computer and no internet, with his security clearance at work suspended. It was unthinkable. His mind, long used to multitasking and heavy, intellectual work, would tear itself to pieces at the prospect of nothing to occupy it. Even worse, he wondered how he was going to survive a desert waste of an evening, perhaps night after night, with nothing but Bond, Bond, Bond to take up his attention. It would be torture beyond comprehension.

Yet here he was, busily preparing supper in anticipation of Moneypenny's arrival. Time had seemed to breeze by. He and Bond had hurdled their first full day together, as eventful as everything was totally unexpected, and Q was pleasantly surprised to realize they had got something good and easy going between them.

The dreaded dinner with Alexandre had turned into something else altogether. It had opened doors between them that he had difficulty shutting now. Moreover, he found that he was slowly unwinding with Bond, all his awkward defensiveness shelved for the time being.

Bond, for his part, was behaving beautifully. He sat as he was bid at the dining table with nothing stronger than a glass of red wine before him, talking shop while Q had the salmon in the grill and was starting on the pasta.

"I didn't know you can prepare a full dinner like this in under one hour," remarked Bond, pausing from their earnest discussion of various firearms that Q had equipped with the latest sensors as he was given the raw green salad to toss, and only after he quipped that he was not contributing to the meal ahead.

Q shrugged. "There's nothing to it. The pasta is just garlic and lemon." He paused as he sipped from his glass of white wine. "I cook when I have time, which isn't often. I hope you don't mind, Bond? This might seem almost vegetarian to you."

Bond scoffed. "I suppose I ought to give my heart a holiday as well," he said.

Q knew Bond meant his cholesterol, yet the short silence that followed his words seemed unusual, impregnated with a different meaning altogether. It was something that Bond was good at doing. Q wasn't even sure if he was being deliberate.

Please don't go there, Q thought, sighing inwardly. This, whatever this is that currently exists between us, is already perfect as it is.

"Well," he said at last and a touch too brightly. "I hope you like fish, because I do have some recipes we can delve into in the coming days."

Bond merely gazed at him, an eyebrow raised, his expression watchful. For a moment, Q feared he would obstinately go back to whatever it was he'd meant to raise with his innuendo, but after a moment more, he let it drop.

"I can't really say I do," Bond finally replied.

Q smiled, almost grateful that their conversation was back on track. "You haven't tasted my cod simmered in sweet soy sauce yet," he said.

* * *

Moneypenny arrived at half past eight, as promised. From the moment she stepped out of the car, Q knew something was up.

"Oh," he said, shoulders slumping at the sound of a deep bark as she let something out from the back seat. "Oh, no."

He already had a suspicion as to who Rufus was, but it was disconcerting to see it materialize before him in the form of a huge golden retriever.

"le Carré will tear him to ribbons," he sighed but he was already reaching out a hand to pat the creature awkwardly on the head as they moved into the house.

"And hello to you," said Moneypenny brightly to Q after greeting Bond, who was now busy giving Rufus a full body stroking. "Glad to see you're holding up. Has your keeper been treating you well?"

"Well enough. My…keeper and I are holding out just fine, as you can see," said Q warmly. "Lovely to see you, Moneypenny."

Moneypenny gave him a fond, knowing look just as she raised a hand that held his computer bag. "You're welcome," she said as he moved to embrace his bag, holding it to him like a jar of candy.

"He's supposed to be on holiday," said Bond, scowling.

"He hasn't got back his full security clearance so he won't be working much yet," clarified Moneypenny, "but M needs him to start on certain areas."

"Of course," said Q, sounding almost relieved. "Dinner, then?"

"Famished," replied Moneypenny, smiling.

Dinner went down very well. The conversation was lively, largely dominated by Bond and Moneypenny's particular brand of flirtatious banter. Rufus made the rounds, tail wagging, acclimatizing himself to the company while Q had to lock the cats up in his bedroom. Just how they were going to make this work, Q had no idea.

They held off all discussion of work until afterward when the dishes had been cleared from the table, leaving only the wine.

"Of course they haven't been able to trace the perpetrator yet but an internal investigation has been started involving the senior officers at Q branch and just about everyone who knows your true identity," said Moneypenny to Q. "It might take a while. Months. Maybe even years. Unless there's another attack."

"I can't be on leave indefinitely," said Q, "and I will not be harried like a fox before hounds. The sooner I get back to work, the better for everyone involved."

Moneypenny nodded. "A service flat has been prepared for you and we've started moving some of your things. The stuff that hadn't been destroyed by the blast, that is. And you will need to be chauffeured to and from work. No more taking the Tube for you."

Q nodded, mouth tight.

"Any word about the bomb's manufacture?" Bond asked.

"It's nothing complicated," said Moneypenny. "It could have been assembled anywhere in the UK. There is no indication of any outside involvement."

"That's good to hear, in a way."

"I think it was just meant to scare you, give you a jolt," Moneypenny told Q. "One can even say it was quite…amateurish. Anyway, M asked me to deliver this to you, for your eyes only."

She handed him a packet, obviously containing handwritten instructions, to be destroyed after he'd read them.

"We're back to delving in print," she said wryly and Q grimaced. "Anyway, how are you lads holding up so far?"

Bond and Q exchanged glances.

"We're fine," said Bond.

"Well," said Q diffidently almost at the same time as Bond.

Moneypenny cast a glance from one to the other. "What does that mean?"

"I suppose we ought to—?" Q looked questioningly at Bond.

"No," Bond cut in shortly. "We've got this."

"What is it?" Moneypenny said, intrigued.

"It's nothing," Bond replied.

Q took the plunge. "We met someone I knew from years ago. He is holidaying here as well."

Moneypenny's eyes went wide. "What?"

"It's just a coincidence. He is not going to be a problem," said Bond. "There is no need to alter our plans."

Q nodded vigorously. "Exactly," he said. "He will be gone before we know it."

Moneypenny stared at them, clearly at a loss. "M will have to know about this," she said.

"No," said Bond and Q almost simultaneously.

"Nothing was compromised," Bond added.

"And if it does come to that, you will inform M?"

"Of course," replied Bond shortly. "What do you take me for?"

Moneypenny stared at him askance for a moment, eyes wide, as though Bond had gone mad. Q could tell that she was putting two and two together and coming out with not quite the number he was hoping for.

"We will inform you and M if we do feel the need to have the mission aborted," said Q reasonably. "It's so well put together that it would be a shame for us to abandon it without any firm basis."

"The local office will also be checking in on you," Moneypenny reminded them. "They're the only ones who know you're here apart from us."

"Of course."

"All right then. I have to go, my flight back to London is in one hour. I've got you an extra suitcase of things from your place, in case you'll need them," said Moneypenny, nodding to Q. "I got everything together from your bedroom. Come help me with it? It's still in the car."

They left Bond at the front door as Moneypenny opened the back of the car.

"Are you sure you're alright, Q?" she asked softly. It was not like her to be so stealthy around Bond.

"Perfectly so, please don't worry."

She cast him a concerned look. "The way you exploded at Bond in the office…"

"I was feeling a tad stressed at the time, sorry."

"Is that all?"

Q could feel his face flushing in the darkness. "Of course," he said. "What else is there?"

Moneypenny eyed him sympathetically. "He can be…intense, you know, for someone who's not used to him," she said. "Jesus, the way he was going on earlier. You'd think he needs to protect you from us."

"I'm sure that's not the case," argued Q. "He's just being…007."

"Well, in case he becomes too much of a handful…"

"Right." Q nodded. "I won't let him boss me around."

Moneypenny gave him a wry smile. "That wasn't what I meant," she said, but before Q could ask her what she did mean by that, she continued, "let me report to M about this encounter with your friend. Otherwise he will have your arse on a platter the longer you put it off."

"All right," said Q. "It's not as if we mean to keep it a secret, but I do want to let you know that Bond was…a great help."

"Good." Moneypenny shut the boot of the car and walked over to the front.

"Well, I'm off. Take care, you two," she called. "Thank you for the lovely dinner, Q."

"You're welcome. Thanks very much for dropping by," said Q as he walked over to her, the small suitcase in hand.

"Call if you need anything," she said.

Moneypenny was about to get into the car when Bond said, "By the way. Emily. Were you able to retrieve her?"

"Yes, we did," said Moneypenny, smiling as she eyed Bond. "She's reunited with her family now, thanks to you. Well, ta, then."

"Drive safe," said Bond.

Q watched the car's taillights disappear into the darkness of the tree-lined avenue beyond the cottage before he turned back to enter the house with Bond.

There were several things that needed to be discussed but Q was up for only one that night.

"Just so we're clear," he said before Bond could say anything, "the cats were here first. So if there's any trouble with the canine, your friend goes. Fair?"

Bond smiled. "Fair enough. You don't know Rufus. Oh, and you won't start with your computers until tomorrow."

"I will just be setting up—"

"Tomorrow," said Bond. "Otherwise you won't be getting any sleep tonight, knowing you."

_Do you?_ Q wondered.

It was time that he put his foot down. Aloud he said, "I appreciate your concern, but kindly do not presume to tell me what to do in matters concerning my job. Good night, 007."

* * *

He started unpacking the contents of the messenger bag in the spare room that would serve as his office: his phone and two laptops. His had been destroyed during the blast, the screen almost entirely ripped off. Opening the new one, he was relieved to see that they had managed to salvage and install the original drive into it. The second one was issued by Q branch and personally put together by R, according to M's missive.

M's message contained two pages of instructions which took Q almost a minute to go through, then he set the papers on top of the hob and watched as they burst into flame and curled into black cinders in the sink before he washed out the dregs.

Lastly, he took the small suitcase to his bedroom, unease curling in his gut at the thought that it took Moneypenny to personally assemble this bit of baggage on his behalf. He already knew what was inside. He had been so frazzled when he'd packed, and they were in such a hurry. It had made him careless; he'd had no idea that he would not be returning to his own home, or that people would be swarming all over it due to the blast. There had been one or two things that he ought not to have left behind.

And sure enough, there it was, discreetly wrapped and nestled in more of his cardigans and a night shirt and pajama or two. Q could feel his face grow hot with mortification at the idea of it being discovered in his dresser, even if it was by a friend whom he could trust. It was stupid of him to have left behind his toy, accompanied by a box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Yet how could he possibly think to bring these things with him here? Now that they were here, they could remain nowhere else.

He made a mental note to send Moneypenny a gift in return, for being nothing if not considerate and tactful.

* * *

Q snapped awake precisely at 8 am, to the tune of an incoming message on his phone.

_Video conference in one hour. Please confirm. –M_

And good morning to you, too, sir, thought Q sourly as he replied with an affirmative.

He emerged from the bedroom to find a note on the dining table.

Out with Rufus. Be back in an hour. Make sure the doors stay locked.

Well, that settled it. He had the entire morning to himself, and while the thought of it brought largely relief, there was a tincture of disappointment in it, too.

He fixed himself some jam on toast and a cup of Earl Grey as he got the computers ready. The cats would be staying in with him until he could talk to Bond about laying out the territory for their respective animals.

Rummaging in his bags, he realized to his chagrin that he did not have an earpiece to plug in for private conferences. Great. Just great. He would just have to shut the door, then.

M came on exactly at 9 am with very little preamble, "What's this tomfoolery I've heard concerning your meeting an old acquaintance of yours?"

"Good morning, sir," Q said pleasantly, thinking he had a long hour ahead of him, and proceeded to bring M to scratch with a colorless version of events involving Alexandre.

It was no surprise that M wanted a sweep over Alexandre's background as well.

"You didn't have to have dinner with the man," said M disapprovingly. "007's idea?"

"He wanted to case the man personally, sir, and I do agree—"

"We can do it on our end without any further contact," said M. "You merely have to report it to me."

Q nodded emphatically. "And that is exactly how it will be from now on, sir. 007 also concluded that he poses a very minimal risk—"

"You are the Quartermaster, Colin, and 007's superior officer," reminded M. "You should be able to manage him better."

Q tightened his mouth against the retort that threatened to leave his tongue. Just whose idea was it to assign 007 to him and to leave him with no say as to the layout of this mission?

"Yes, sir," he merely said.

"You can't give him free rein to do as he pleases. You know how he operates—" M got that far before Q thought to lower the volume on his computer. At the rate he was going, M's voice could be heard all the way down the street, for all Q could ascertain.

"—pose a challenge to your authority," M finished in a much lower decibel.

"I understand, sir," he replied evenly. "If I may remind you, I did object to 007 being assigned to me."

There was silence as M stared at him, perhaps in disbelief.

Q pressed on, "but so far, 007 has not done anything without my express sanction. We planned every step together. Therefore I will accept responsibility for whatever consequence that may arise from our joint action."

M breathed out a long sigh, looking slightly mollified. "All right," he said. "But I shall speak to him at the end of our session. Let's now turn our attention to the first matter at hand…"

* * *

It took an hour just as he'd figured, and Q was more than ready for a short break when he finally stepped out of his office.

Rufus immediately came over, nosing into Q's hand inquisitively, seeking treats. So 007 was back, thought Q before he switched his attention once again to the golden retriever as he ran awkward hands over the abundant soft fur just as Bond had done last night. God, he was so big. Just a swish of his energetic tail could knock over things. Q was not used to dogs. He was wary of their size, their loudness, their overwhelming need for attention. Q closed the door to the office before Rufus could detect the cats and finally went in search of Bond.

"Bond?" called Q as he moved through the house and, when the man was nowhere to be found, he made his way toward 007's room.

The door was ajar, and Q did not think to slow down until he saw Bond walk into sight inside the bedroom, fresh from the shower and clad in nothing but a towel around his waist, water droplets on his skin and hair dripping as he ran a hand absently over the short strands.

_"Oh."_ Q braked abruptly, looking away before he could even think it through. Ruthlessly, he quashed the apology, also reflexive, that threatened to tumble from his lips.

He owed Bond no apology, especially as he realized almost instantly that this was probably staged by the man himself. And if this were the case, 007 had in all probability overheard M's little homily together with his stinging reply earlier and was now testing him. Taunting him._ Manage this, Quartermaster_. Q would still himself and not bolt down the corridor like some raw, frightened virgin. He would not give Bond that satisfaction.

_Manage him_, M had said. And he would, in his own way.

"Yes, Q?" Bond was smiling as he nonchalantly made his way over to Q, and Q could easily imagine him arriving home from his walk with Rufus, hand perhaps stretched out to knock on Q's door before M's voice on the other side stopped him.

Bastard, thought Q. Mouth twisting, he lifted his head to regard Bond wryly as he stuck his hands on each side of his waist. For the moment, he did not know where his eyes ought to land so he settled on Bond's face.

"Do you make a habit of listening at doors?" Q asked, not mincing words. "A spy doing the thing he does best, perhaps?"

He'd half-expected Bond to deny it, but Bond's smile only stretched wider as he leaned a hand against the door frame, clearly a challenge, and clearly enjoying that moment of seeing Q flustered. He was all smooth ropes of muscle, his broad chest and abs well-toned and surprisingly and pleasingly sparse of hair. Damn, damn. "Perhaps you and M ought to keep your voices down," he merely said.

His eyes were so incredibly blue against the morning light, and Q was starting to learn how to detect minute traces carefully hidden in their cool depths. Traces of displeasure, perhaps even of anger.

"Point taken. I ought to have a headset the next time we do a video conference or perhaps stuff the doorway with towels," said Q shortly. "Anyway, M would like a word with you."

Bond nodded. "I'll be there in five minutes."

"Call him back when you're ready. And kindly close your door the next time you mean to take a shower."

Bond paused as he turned back to regard Q. "Why?" he said, eyes innocently wide. "You can look all you want. We're married, after all."

Q smiled at Bond sweetly. "Try harder, Bond. I'm sure inspiration will strike, the longer you keep at it."

That earned Q a smile from Bond, and when he did, Q saw something shift in Bond's gaze, the raw traces of emotion clearing from his eyes.

So they were at it again, hiding behind familiar banter. He already missed the easy, open affability between them that had somehow been dispelled by the intrusion of work and real life expectations.

_Get used to it,_ Q thought grimly to himself. There was no point in getting carried away by something that wasn't even real. That was the danger with Bond, though. With this man, Q just wasn't sure what he'd end up giving of himself.

Everything, and then some more, he thought, watching Bond emerge from his five minute conversation with M, cool as a cucumber, M's reprimands rolling off him like water off a duck's back.

God help him, he was so _fucked._

"M says I have you to thank for having my back," Bond informed Q.

"It's the other way around," Q murmured. "Bond…"

Time seemed to stretch out around the ten seconds of silence that followed as Q tried to lend words to his thoughts. Bond waited, his gaze still as it settled on Q.

"I meant it when I said I didn't want you here," he said, "but only because your services would be wasted in babysitting me when you could be out there, doing much bigger things in the field on more important assignments."

"You thought I was toying with you," said Bond.

"Yes, well," Q floundered, "that, too. But now that you're here, I'm…glad. We work well together, just as we always have."

More beats of silence. Bond was not helping at all.

"And I'm not M," said Q finally. "I have my own way of doing things."

Bond seemed to understand what he was trying to say and not say at the same time. Until then, Q had never realized that the arctic blue of Bond's eyes was a warm color.

Bond nodded, then corrected him by saying, "we do things our way."

"Our way," Q agreed after a moment.

He wasn't sure what their way even was. They were so different from each other, like cats and dogs; yet they would make whatever it was between them work. It was already working.

That was all that mattered to him. Anything else between them would just have to be kept at bay.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** A hob is the British equivalent of a stovetop.


End file.
